


Before Dawn

by mishencockles



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Birdflash - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Requited Love, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 13:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 46
Words: 244,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13168320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishencockles/pseuds/mishencockles
Summary: Robin gets captured on a mission gone wrong. Rescued after weeks of torture and assault, he is faced with the long, gruelling road of recovery.Slow burn Dick/Wally. A fic about the days after trauma, how it tears bonds apart and how it forges new ones.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been a long time in the making. It started back in 2012/2013 on the LJ anon YJ fic meme, where the following prompt was posted:
> 
> ''Prompt: Robin gets captured and tortured during a mission, and everyone must deal with the aftermath of what has happened when they find him.''
> 
> A lot of things happened in my life and ironically, due to mental illness I couldn't continue writing it. I also lost interest with how YJ season 2 and the DC New 52 reboot happened. I replaced my obsession with comic books with tv shows, but stopped writing fics for them as well. Stopped writing in general. 
> 
> I'm not sure why, but recently I just started toying with the idea of taking this fic back up. Nevermind I hadn't read a comic book in years, or seen the show since the S2 premiere. I don't know, I found some coworkers who liked to talk about comic books. Maybe that's why. Maybe the news about YJ S3. Maybe it's just the fact that this fic was special to me.
> 
> Either way, I decided to move it from LJ and post it here, and continue it. It's not a perfect fic, actually, there are lots of things I have changed since the original post, and things I would like to change but honestly can't be bothered to.
> 
> This story more or less told itself, and I'm hoping it can do that again. I know it meant a lot to the people who read them, and it meant a lot to me, for what it gave me in community, friends and writing experience.
> 
> I felt like I owe it to myself, to the OP of the prompt, and to the story itself, to finish it. Bear in mind I'm jumping into this with years of inactivity, it's been a while since I wrote, since I read, since I did much of anything relevant to this fic.
> 
> Anyway, here it is. It is LONG. It is GRAPHIC. It is rough around the edges, and it is written with love.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be simple. _But that's how it always goes, isn't it?_ Just a ''simple'' mission, get in, gather the information, get out. Disappear. Like ghosts drifting through walls; the world goes on as if nothing ever happened.   
  
But it's never that simple. Something always happens, something that will set off the domino effect that comes with being a hero; that comes with getting nose to nose with madmen -  _murderers_ , for god's sake - for sending  _children_  to do an adult's job. An adult with half a life time worth of training and oh _deargod_ how could they not have expected this? Well, of course they expected the children to get hurt and bruised, burnt and broken but never this _bad_ , never this horrible never -  
  
Diana takes a deep breath as she circles the area for what feels like the hundredth time, yet nothing changes. The scenery lies before her as it was a mere moment ago and remains unchanged. The rubble and the debris changes locations depending on whether Superman has turned it over or not; judging by the look on his face he already has, a million times, yet his efforts have yielded nothing. They all search, for hours it seems but she can't be certain as no one stops to check the time - they don't have time, they have to find him before it's too late and what if he's under a beam or fifteen tons of concrete what if he's dead what if he's crushed oh  _dear Hera have mercy -_  
  
''He's gone''  
  
Superm - no, Clark, looks at her as if he's trying to tear himself away and out of his own body, away from this mad scene of everything they always knew could happen but never actually thought  _would_  happen because he's Robin, for god's sake it's  _Robin_ , their little, tiny acrobat who's become more like a son - a nephew, a brother, a friend - than anything over the years and he _can't_  be gone, nonononononno she won't let him be gone he  _can't be -_  
  
''Diana?'' Clark's hand is large and heavy on her shoulder, adding to what feels like the weight of the world. She can't tell if the sinking of her feet is just imaginary. ''Are you alr--''  
  
''I'm  _fine_ ''  
  
She doesn't mean to brush him off. She can tell by the peculiar way his eyes glaze over, as if a shield has slid over them, slid over him to protect him from what he's trying to deny. She can tell that he's hurt but at the moment she can't find it in her to care.  
  
''Is Bruce..?''  
  
''He's been notified'' Clark speaks as if it's any other day, as if nothing's wrong or out of the ordinary, like maybe they misplaced a jet or someone dropped their communicator - Barry, maybe - and it's all going to be fine if they just calm down and  _breath, dammit_  but she can't breathe she can't --  
  
Diana clenches her eyes shut as she tries to compose herself .Tries to remember who she is and what she stands for but it's so hard to be brave. Nevermind facing Giganta or crushing meteors, this is different because  _this time she is utterly powerless_. With all the gifts of the gods she is still so  _useless_  and it hurts how it hurts that the great Amazon who can deflect bullets and stop derailing trains can't even find a missing child.  
  
''This isn't... this isn't your fault''   
  
She can't tell if Clark is trying to convince her or himself, more so it sounds as if he's just murmuring empty words to fill the silence. The silence that isn't really a silence as much as it is the horrible sound of feet walking in circles and rocks being turned but revealing nothing and she can't  _take it anymore,_ she has to get out has to find Bruce has to find something, anything that makes any sense at the moment and she --  
  
Clark barely sees her as she speeds off into the night, disappearing as a glimmer in the starry canvas and for a second his mind stands still. Clark doesn't know if it scares him more that someone he has grown to love like a nephew is missing or that the strongest woman he knows can't take it; that she has to run away like a frightened girl and not the strong, powerful woman he knows that she is. And if Diana can't be brave, how can he? Clark doesn't know anything anymore but the one fact that they have all silently agreed on.  
  
They have to find Robin. 

 

* * *

 

 

''He's alive. He has to be alive.''  
  
Wally is pacing around the room like he's been doing for the past half hour, only to him it has been so much longer than that. When every second stretches vast as an hour, the pain and the worry and the what if I'd been there he was  _right there_  I should have done more I should have done enough why is it never  _enough_  -- it becomes too much for him to handle. He tries to slow his mind down but there is nothing stopping the imagery playing - taunting him - in his head.  
  
Wally wipes his eyes, though dry he hopes to rub the tiredness away. His every muscle is screaming, twitching in pain and his body is begging him to sit down. But Wally can't rest, Wally can't stop, can't stop  _thinking_ , wondering if maybe there was something, anything they could have done to prevent this  
  
It had been so simple. They only had to collect some information, only had to sneak in and download some files and get out of there but suddenly there were so many of them. Bad men with guns everywhere and then something exploded and they were all nearly crushed but Robin got them out, he got them out of there before they could be crushed what if Robin was crushed they had to  _find him_  and Wally couldn't breathe.  
  
M'gann tries desperately but in vain to find his mind; where his thoughts have previously frolicked in her own there is but a void. As if Robin has been sucked out of their world completely. M'gann fears the worst but tries not to think of it as she painfully grips Conner's arm. Had he not been part Superman her nails would have cut his skin but he is strong, he can handle it, he can handle her which is good because god knows she can't. She wants to do something, be useful, comfort the others as their thoughts, unlike Robin's, are open to her and their pain seeps in like an ice cold flood. It takes all her might not to buckle under their silent screams.

Artemis is silent, everyone is silent and it's driving Wally insane.  
  
''He's not dead.'' he repeats again and again, trying to evoke a response. ''He  _can't_  be, he - ''  
  
''Would you shut up?!'' Artemis has risen out of the couch and is looking at him, glaring at him as if all she wants in her life is to rip his jaw right off its hinges. She needs his words to stop because every time he tries to reassure himself that their friend is still alive it only pushes the feeling of the contrary deeper into her gut; it solidifies the fear already gnawing at her spine.  
  
''It's been two days, Wally, statistics say - ''  
  
''I don't give a shit about statistics!'' Wally turns around so fast the kinetic energy alone rips an ornament from a shelf, sending it crashing down to the floor where it splits in many little pieces. The archer and the speedster both watch the shards in quiet contemplation, as if it means something, as if it holds an answer that they need.  
  
''Please, can we...'' M'gann bows her head, then turns her eyes to them with the fiercest determination she can muster. Her gaze falls on them like fire, and the two feel their shoulders sag in shame. ''Can we not do this? Now? Please, I just...'' she bites her lip but cannot stop the trembling. ''I just want to find him. Can we please just focus on  _finding him_? I...''  
  
Conner puts his arms around her in a way that reminds them of a shield and the Martian says no more. Kaldur shakes his head in sorrow, but his stance remains upright and strong. He is torn between his worry as a friend and his anger at himself as a leader. Clearly this has to fall on him, as the leader of the team any misfortune to a member falls on him. Kaldur knows he should have been better, acted sooner, thought quicker, felt braver but he -- he cannot ponder such matters at the moment. He cannot let his own self-hatred and guilt come in the way of the true goal. Before they find Robin, dead or alive as it may be, he cannot clutter his mind with self-doubt.  
  
Though he feels he deserves nothing less, Kaldur knows he has to think with his head and not his heart right now.  
  
''We will find him'' he says to no one, everyone, ''We will not rest until our friend is home. This I promise you.''  
  
Wally looks at him like he wants nothing more than to believe, but cannot understand how.

 

* * *

 

 

When the nausea lifts he is mildly aware of the dull ache in the back of his head. Whether the source of the pain is external or internal he can't say for sure, but Robin knows that he is not in good shape. He tries to recollect the memories of where he was and where it may have landed him, but before his gaze focuses and the blurry silhouettes turn into solid shapes, he can feel the smell of bleach.   
  
''Awake now, are we?''   
  
There is a laugh that circles around him, bouncing off the walls it hits him sharp and clear. Something about the man's voice makes every inch of his skin crawl, as if his body is trying to get anywhere that is not in the man's general direction. But Robin is trapped; his muscles flex and tense under leather belts and the more he fidgets the harder they seem to constrict.   
  
''You didn't think I'd get a bird but not a cage to keep it in, hm? Such a thing would just fly away.'' Fingers that smell of leather; gloved, he notices - grasp his chin and for a second he is almost overwhelmed. ''I can't have that, you understand, no?''  
  
Robin swalllows down and try to stay whelmed, but there is just something about the man he can't quite escape from. Something deep and haunting, the kind that stays within you for weeks and months and perhaps even years and after several minutes, the touch of the hand lingers still on his skin long after the hand is gone.  
  
''Who --'' he feels the faint taste of metal -- blood? -- around his teeth as he speaks.  
  
''Me?'' the man chuckles warmly. ''I'm just a man with a job. Never did I suspect one would fall into my nest so easily but... a pleasant surprise is always welcomed, don't you agree?''  
  
There is something peculiar about the way he moves; like an old injury still haunts him and Robin makes note to remember it. A force of habit he can't quite control.  
  
''Tell me, little Robin'' there is a sharp sound of metal against metal, the man's back tells Robin nothing of his intent but it sounds like -  _oh please_ , is he really sharpening a weapon? Are they going to torture him? Robin can't believe they're actually going to -- ''Did you know that in each hand there are around 48 nerves?''  
  
He wants to laugh, but doesn't. The moment is just too absurd.

He's been beaten around a lot, gotten a few bones broken, limbs dislocated, even had his eye swell shut for almost a week and there was that one unfortunate encounter with a two-faced fellow and a baseball bat. The old wounds still haunt and hurt from time to time, especially in the winter when it's cold but Robin's never -- he's never been  _tortured_  before. Of course Batman has prepared him for this, should the day ever come he has made sure that every preventive measure has been taken. He's not surprised, actually he expected it to have happened sooner rather than later but he's still -- he's still frightened and Robin can't help but feel like he's disappointing someone because really, he's been trained for this, he shouldn't be afraid. The Flying Graysons never feared. He  _can't_  be afraid, not when there are so many secrets depending on him right now.  
  
The man walks over to him. His face is hidden in the shadows left by the sharp light of the lamp that shines bright and yellow - like the sun, like Superman when he basks in its mornings rays and  _where is Superman_  where is everybody are they safe, why aren't they coming to get --  
  
he hears the sickening sound of something breaking, breaking like the bones of - nononono, no he  _won't think of that_  right now, he won't go back to that time and the smell of their blood on the floor, the floor where he'd play with Zitka and the screams, the many horrible screams that were just  _so loud_  but not as loud as his and - Robin bites back a whimper but it comes out strangled and the man chuckles at his pain.  
  
''Oh, you've broken a bone before, haven't you, little Robin? It comes with the job, doesn't it?   
  
_Crack._

 _Crack._  
  
The long and slender fingers - like spiderlegs, ready to crawl over him and devour him and - Robin tries to breathe, tries to stay calm and focused; remember what Batman told him, remember what he taught him, remember who he  _is_  but it hurts so much and Robin can't remember the mantra he was supposed to repeat. He can't remember how he was supposed to go into the trance, away from the pain and sheltered in a blanket of comfortable nothingness because the man is pulling his finger - his broken finger which hurts so much it's as if it is trying to burn itself off and separate from the rest of his body. Robin can't blame it as when the next finger breaks he wants to do the same.  
  
_Craa-ack._  
  
He lets out a gasp but bites back the scream and the sweat is pooling all over his forehead; his mask feels sticky and heavy yet safe at the same time and brief panic washes over Robin as he realizes the man could pull it off at any given second.  
  
''Such marvelous gloves, my boy'' the man tsk-tsks and hums and murmurs to himself as he admires the craftsmanship of every little piece of Robin's costume. From the buckles and the seams to the fabric and the abnormally smooth kevlar and his belt - his utility belt, where is the belt? Never leave home without it, first thing Batman taught him - where is his belt he  _wants his damn belt_. He could pick out a birdarang or a smoke bomb and escape or even if he could access the lock pick in his glove he --  
  
the glove slids off and jars the injured fingers.  
  
This time Robin can't contain his scream and as it slips out the man grins and grunts like a kid having cake. A horrible, repulsive, disgusting little kid that no mother could ever truly love.   
The other glove comes off, and soon follows his boots and Robin waits in tense anticipation for the mask to come off as well, his entire body taut and his muscles feel like tearing - he prepares to thrash and bite and lunge as much as the restraints will allow, no,  _more_  than that, whatever it takes to protect the idenity he --  
  
''Don't look like that'' the man puts his face in his level and bores his eyes, his tiny, beady little yellow eyes, into Robin's and he smiles; the bastard  _smiles_. ''I won't take a peak, I swear.'' and mockingly he raises a hand to his heart and says ''Scout's honour''  
  
And all Robin wants to do is scream because it makes him think of Clark and where is Clark, where is Bruce Wally Roy where is everyone he -- Robin collects himself and tries to remember everything that Batman taught him. Robin is capable of taking care of himself, because Batman taught him to be ready he will  _be_  ready and he can get through this. Robin knows he can get through this if he just pulls himself together and --  
  
_Craa-crAck._


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for graphic torture, (non-graphic) rape

He hasn't slept in days. At least he thinks it days but he can't be sure because it feels like years right now and he just wants to sleep, he just wants to sleep for god's sake, why won't they let him sleep? Robin is used to pulling all-nighters, used to getting by on three hours, maybe one a night and he's used to drinking lots of energy drinks but he's not used to this - he didn't choose this, they're doing this to him to break his mind, he knows they're trying to make him cave but Robin won't. Robin will soldier on and he won't tell them anything about the League, Batman or his team, he won't tell them about his family, he won't let them, he won't let them know.

''Robin... aren't you tired? Don't your muscles just ache?''

Robin can barely hear him, the ornithologist as he calls himself, over the loud humming of pain and white noise in his head. There is the dull ache of something trying to claw through his skull and Robin can't keep his eyes open, can't keep his legs from shaking and his vision swims in black and blurs, he barely remembers his own name but tries so hard to remember what Batman taught him.

''Come on, little bird. Just tell me, and I'll let you sleep. Just tell me what I want to know and you'll get a nice, warm bed to cosy up in. Clean pajamas, cotton sheets...'' the man caresses his cheek, almost lovingly but Robin sees no love in his rotten, withered eyes. ''I'll even sing you a lullaby.''

Robin just smirks - at least, he thinks it's a smirk but can't really tell as he's starting to lose sensation in his face.

''What, were you born yesterday? Everyone knows who Batman is.''

The ornithologist looks at him good-humoredly.

''You know what I mean, Robin. Tell me who Batman really is. What hides beneath the cowl of the caped crusader?''

Robin gives him as solid of a glare as he can, tries to find the blurry shape of the man and focus on it - focus a glare so cold and unforgiving that for a moment he goes completely numb.

''The man who's going to break every bone in your body when he --''

The slap is unexpected and shocks him silent for a far longer while than it takes for the pain to subside. When Robin fully realizes what has happened he's too surprised to speak. A punch would have been expected, yes, but not a slap. Something so chastising as if the two were having a family banter and -- the rage swells and screams because this man is not his family and Robin will be damned if he's going to let himself ever forget that. His real family is out there and he has to protect them - no matter what happens, no matter what this man does to him Robin will never, ever let him get near enough to even smell them.

''Really, Robin, you're disappointing me.''

''Well, don't expect to be appointed anytime soon.''

''I have powerful friends, Robin'' The man's face is stern and taut, every word heavily emphasized, only barely reaching its sticky fingers through the fog in Robin's head. ''Very powerful.''

Robin chuckles.

''I'm supposed to be scared?''  
The man grabs his neck with the gloved hand and the smell of leather is nauseating, he can feel the bile crawling in his throat but his stomach is so empty, he hasn't eaten in so long; Robin just wants to collapse and break but he won't let himself, he has to be strong. He can do this.

''I could skin you alive'' the man says slowly, almost affectionately. ''I could skin you alive and have my friends heal you and skin you again and again. I can rip your eyes out and grow them back and it will never end, Robin, it won't end until you tell me what I want to hear''

Robin says nothing and the man sighs.

''Fine. If you enjoy this so much...'' he throws his hands up in resignation, Robin is just glad the smell of his gloves is far away.   
''I was going to be nice to you but as they say...'' he gently peels the gloves off as if shedding a second skin and they both watch the things as they fall to the floor. ''The gloves are off.''

Robin waits patiently as he returns to his table. It seems like eternities before he returns, the tools are sharp in his hands and Robin is starting to panic -- he has to collect himself, has to remember the meditation, has to find his calm place, has to find his center and --

The pain is only as unbearable as it is horrible and every nerve in his body screams. The skin tears. His muscles twitch and move like they are attempting to separate from his bones; his entire being is turning itself inside out and he can't scream - he wants to but he can't, the pain is just too much and as the blood falls thick and sticky down his chest Robin can't remember where he is.

The skin comes off in a long, transparent film of pink and the man holds it in the light like a photo strip. He regards the texture like old memories, gently putting it aside before he returns again. Robin can hear the tearing of flesh and the wet, sickening sound of his blood and his skin and he - he can taste the blood in his mouth and the dry heaves are robbing him of all air as his throat closes up and Robin wants to pass out, wants to go to his happy place but that place is so far away, it's just a never ending carousel of blood and the skvisch skvetch skvisch of his body being disassembled and --

''Oh, my dear little bird...'' the man chuckles, but puts the knife down and if Robin could breathe he'd draw a sigh of relief. It isn't until the man brings a bucket that he smells the urine and he realizes it's coming from him and he's soiled himself because the pain and -- the water is colder than anything he's ever experienced; it rips and tears at his skin and his fresh wound like he's burning from the inside and he can't even feel the man's breath on his skin because it all hurts so much he couldn't ever imagine something as innocent as water hurting this much.

''We should dry you off.''

Robin doesn't even listen anymore. The shock from the water is still crushing him like an anvil and Robin just wants to go home. The man just keeps talking and keeps fumbling around at his table with tools and Robin doesn't want to be here.   
The second he recognizes the battery and the prod he wants to crawl into the wall and disappear. Robin has only been shocked a few times, most of them harmless. The first time he fell into an electric fence, it was nothing horrible but the second time he came too close to Live Wire and it hurt so unbelievably much. Everything that can happen to a body that's subjected to an electric current rushes through his head, merciless and unrelenting - Robin briefly curses his brain for knowing too much about these things. Curses it because he knows so much in theory but so little of it in practice.   
The jolt feels like he's being kicked by hundreds of steel toed boots at once. Every shock jars his body and crushes against his chest, his lungs coil in on themselves until it feels like breathing smoke. He's pretty sure he's soiled himself again - he should, at least from what he knows in theory and his brain burns and stings and it's almost as if it is melting and Robin just wants to go home.   
He doesn't want to be here he doesn't want to be here he just wants to go home, home to Alfred and his cookies, even M'ganns cookies, he swears he'll never decline any of her cookies ever again if he could just go home he'd eat everything she made for him no matter how burnt of singed or on fire it was and the thought of the burning oven makes the smell of his burned skin so sickening and he doesn't know how much more he can take.

The prod hums and sizzles and the man chuckles. The smell of burnt skin is only overpowered by the smell of urine and feces. The man strokes his skin in thought, before a smile splits his mouth open. He disappears out of Robin's view, which is covered in spots of light dancing gently across his retinas. When the man returns he has more water and he pours the ice cold fluid over his body again. It feels more like glass splinters digging into his skin, tearing at every little part of him as it seeps into his nose and his armpits. The man seems to walk away and return again, more water as if he has some endless supply and this time he's pouring it on Robin's face he's -- Robin thinks he's being goddamn waterboarded like in some stupid movie he can't belive they'd be so cliche but it -- it works, he has to give them that.

He tries to fight it with logic, tries to fight the surging fear and the panic that is swallowing him, the itch of dread under his skin and his heart thumping wildy under his ribs he wonders if the man can hear it. He knows he isn't really drowning, the man probably won't let him die because Robin would actually be happy about that; he knows he isn't really dying but he feels like he's drowning over and over and over again and he's fighting for air so hard it's like his lungs are on fire.

''Oh, Robin'' the man laughs. ''How you entertain me.''

A touch on his chest that lingers too long before ungloved fingers press at his wounds; press hard and raw and fierce and it hurts only enough for him to snap out of his shock. But when Robin remembers where he is and what is happening the prod hums and crackles and next thing he knows it's as if someone is trying to kick his spine out of his body. Robin screams and if he could he's pretty sure he would soil himself again but he's empty, completely empty and there's nothing but pain and everything burns and grates within him. The current rushes through his body and back again, before the man laughs.

''Don't worry, Robin. I'll fix you up in no time. Just know that any perceived brain damage is only temporary.'' He crouches down to whisper in his ear and his breath is hot and warm and rotten. ''I have powerful friends, remember?''

There is a hand on his crotch but Robin doesn't have time to panic before a new electric current is shot through it and he thinks that for a moment he blacks out.   
''Oh, dear'' the man shakes his head and sighs. ''Your ears... are... you're bleeding. Ah. I ... should patch you up. I wouldn't want you to die, now, would I?'' as the man passes Robin, heading for the door, he gently ruffles the boy's hair.   
''Don't move, I'll be right back.''

 

* * *

 

  
They tried everything they had but it wasn't enough - nothing is enough to break him because Dick won't give up. They burn and cut him, beat him almost every day. They won't let him eat, won't let him eat and for a while that feels so long he loses track of time when they won't even let him sense anything - Dick can't smell or hear or see, he can only feel what they're doing to him for days and days on end.   
He can feel the lye on his skin, can feel the cold, soothing feeling of healing - the meta must constantly be in the room because his wounds stop bleeding almost as soon as they appear and he can swear he feels all the skin grow back on his face and Dick's like untouched again and they can go on forever. Dick wonders if he's even still alive or if this is hell, if he's died and this is eternal damnation which he will never escape from.

Then suddenly all of it just stops and somehow it is even worse than the pain. He hates when they're not doing anything because he can't tell what they're planning, his mind is just a mess of indistinguishable screams - he hears their movements but he can't see for all the blood in his eyes but the light is still bright and yellow and Dick just wants to know why no one is talking, no one is saying anything and he wonders if this is what dying feels like.   
Dick wonders if they're going to kill him now, if maybe they grew tired of him and as much as he fears the end and never getting to see his friends again, never washing the R-cycle on a warm summer day or playing basketball with Bruce or practicing his quadruple flip - the last living person on Earth who can perform it anymore because -- never again go camping with his friends and watch M'gann set fire to ice cream for crying out loud never having Superman pick him up and fly around Gotham to view her majestic, broken beauty as it was meant to be seen he is --  
proud, happy that he made it all the way through and that they will never know. They will never hurt anyone he loves because Dick stayed strong, Dick did everything he was trained to do and he made it, he's proud of himself, they didn't break him and no one can ever take that away from him and --

''You have such wonderful, blue eyes'' he says as he wipes the blood off the boy ''Such a pretty, young face''

The touch on his skin burns and burns even though it's just a hand, a gloved hand and Dick tries to thrash but he is exhausted he can't move can't even scream he --

''What a shame to let it go to waste, hm?''

Nonono this isn't happening -- he never expected thi-- no, nononononnonononoNO NO NO THIS ISN'T --

The hands are everywhere and he can't feel anything but the leather against his skin and they're touching him they're touching him and it hurts even worse than anything, but it hurts more than his body, it hurts his soul, it hurts his mind and heart and he can't let them do this, he doesn't believe he could make it back from something like this, he has to stop them but why can't he move, why can't he scream why can't he –  
'N-no!'' his voice breaks and tears on every syllable but he forces the words out through a mouth so dry it feels close to splitting ''No! No! NO, GET AWAY FROM ME!''

This was his first time it can't be like this it has to be a bad dream like the ones he has whenever their names come up or the anniversary except so much more horrible it has to be it can't be real no nono this wasn't how it was supposed to happen --

The filth is in his skin and in his marrow, under his tissue in his bones it's eating him alive and Dick has never felt so dirty he just wants to vomit and scream and kill them he wants to break their skulls and get them away get them away from him he's just a child why can't they just let him go home he can't take it anymore he -- can't find his happy place can't find any place other than the here and the now and he feels everything and he smells it, he hears the sounds he feels him where he should never ever be he's not allowed to be there why would he do this why whywhywhy oh godohgod why?

The grunts and he moans and he makes those disgusting little sounds, the bastard is enjoying this he's enjoying this humiliation and abuse he loves it, the bastard loves tearing him apart ''I would be selfish of me to... keep you to myself.''

The man touches his cheek and he flinches but can't get far enough away from the man can't get away -

''The more the merrier, no? ''

No. Nonononononono no. They can't he won't let them they can't why won't they get off him get it off get it off get them off -- Like a covered in burns he just wants to die from the pain but he can't give up can't give in he has to stay strong he wants the pain to end but it never ends it will never end 

_it will never end._

 

* * *

 

  
It's been two weeks when he hears it. Or, feels it, rather. When J'onn glides over the area there is as if a shield is taken down, momentarily a glitch in their defensive systems and it hits him so hard it almost knocks him out of the sky.   
The screaming is loud and brutal but to his ears there is only silence; meanwhile his mind is being flooded with pain and sorrow and disgust, regret and so much pain J'onn has never felt anything like this. He can't stand it, he has to close the mind link - no, he can't close it because they'll lose him, they're so close he can feel him, he has to find him, can't let go before he finds him.

''He is still alive'' J'onn's voice carries through the intercom because he's too overwhelmed, too overpowered to tell them telepathically, ''Somebody, please, hurry. I - I do not know for how much longer I can...''

''J'onn?'' Superman appears out of nowhere and there is something hard, something unfamiliar and frightening with his face ''J'onn, can you hear him? Is he..?''

''He is alive'' the Martian Manhunter whispers, grasping his head it's hard to know what sensation is in his mind and what is outside of it. ''But only... barely, you have to hurry, I can't... I can't keep the link up for much longer''

Superman wastes no time darting through the sky and he crashes through the roof like a meteor, like a guardian angel he breaks through every room and wall until he finds him.   
Until he sees the man with the gloves and his companions. Before the last son of Krypton sees the blood and the horror and he suddenly stops thinking.

It only takes a minute before more League members arrive; but a minute is all Clark needs to ruin the place. It takes five of them to hold him back, hold him back before he kills someone, before he snaps their necks in his bare hands, before he breaks every last son of a --

''Get him home.''

Bruce's eyes are hidden behind the cowl but his glare hits Clark right where it hurts and it's all it takes for the energy to leave him. The fury drains but leaves a seething, smoldering anger in the pit of his gut and he feels sick all of a sudden.

''Are you --''

''He needs medical attention. You're the fastest flyer.'' When he sees Clark open his mouth, trying to say something when they don't have time to talk, they need to act, they need to go, Bruce merely snarls. ''Go.''

And Superman is gone so quickly they barely see him leave; Robin is gone with him and left are only the horrible, horrible men and a group of omnipotent people trying as hard as they can not to cross the line.


	3. Three

They can't see him for a couple of days. Understandable; he needs medical attention. They're happy he's returning at all - they already waited so long, what was another day or two?

But they're almost out of their skin, almost crawling the walls just waiting to hear the announcement of the teleporter. When the words '' _Robin - B01_ '' ring through the speakers, they all draw a collective sigh of relief. Closely followed is the announcement of '' _Batman - 02, Superman - 01, Martian Manhunter - 07_ '' and the four forms emerge. The silence when they enter could crush bone.

Batman looks pale, paler than usual - he doesn't seem to have slept much at all. Superman and Martian Manhunter appear tired, but with their backs straight and faces stern. They can relax now, they can calm down because Robin is home and everything is fine, so why doesn't anything feel fine at all? Why does it all feel so wrong? Wally can't put his finger on it but there is just something off about all of this, much like a thorn in his side but he doesn't spend more thought on it the moment Robin steps out from behind Batman's shadow.

M'gann is close to tears and only barely keeps them to small pools in the corners of her eyes as she leaps through the room to embrace him.

''Oh, Robin I'm so glad you're home I didn't think I'd ever see you again I'm so glad you're back I was so worried --'' is all they can discern before her ramblings carry over to the Martian tongue.

When Robin flinches from her touch she only looks hurt for a second. She jolts away from him with a look of intense guilt.

''I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking! I didn't mean to startle you, I'm sorry, I'm just so glad I --'' she tries to smile. ''I - I made cookies!''

Robin smiles back at her but there is something so inexplicably wrong with it.

''Awesome. I've been craving cookies for weeks.''

Superboy feels nauseated with anger. He looks at Superman, right in the eyes as the Man of Steel no longer can ignore him. The silent quesiton ''why, why didn't you let me kill them why can't I hurt them like they hurt my friend why do you get to hurt them why can't I -- '' hangs between them for the small moment it takes before Clark looks away.

''Are you... are you...'' Artemis can't finish the sentence because she doesn't know what to say.

''My head feels like cement, but they say I'm fine. I won't even scar.''

Wally doesn't want him to smile like that. It isn't Robin, Robin wouldn't smile like that, there's no joy in it, there's only something dead dead dead and rotten and Wally just wants his best friend back. He wants to vomit, wants to run around the Earth a thousand times because it feels so wrong - He was going to ask him out that day, right before they had to leave for the mission but there was no time to ask and then it all went wrong and Wally was supposed to ask him to dinner - nothing fancy, just a quick grab at the closest McD before they would hit the arcade but he wasn't on time didn't have time and Wally wishes he could have done something and it's all his fault. He's a terrible, terrible best friend, what kind of friend can't even save someone from such -- Wally takes a shaky breath and walks over to Robin. The youngest teen visibly tenses under his cloak and it hurts, it hurts because Wally knows he deserves that he deserves the fear he deserves it for being so useless.

''Rob... I'm...''

Robin meets his gaze, the mask is clean and his face is shiny and healthy and he looks normal, like nothing ever happened, like no one ever laid a hand on him. There are no bruises, no wounds or stitches or swellings and yet Wally can't help but feel like something is broken.

''KF, don't sweat it. You guys... You did what you could, alright? I'm just glad you all made it out. And I'm back now so please... stop it with the pouty faces, okay?'' he crosses his arms with a playful smirk but there is nothing genuine about it. ''C'mon guys. This is the worst welcome home party ever.''

They look at him in silence, not really how to react and Conner can't take it, he needs to go somewhere, he needs to break something, needs to punch and hurt and destroy something. So he leaves, quickly, his steps are heavy and wide and Robin looks confused and wonders if it was something he said.

''Aw, Con didn't take me seriously, did he?''

Wally raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

''Dude, he's... are... you were gone for two weeks, Rob. _Two weeks!_  Do you have any idea how worried we were?!''

Robin doesn't seem to get it, doesn't seem to understand because he just keeps smiling and Wally wants him to stop.

''C'mon, guys. I'm home now. It's fine.''

Kaldur steps up, noticing it is becoming much too tense, and keeping his distance as not to make Robin uncomfortable - he has read about trauma victims, read about the aftermath and decides it is better to keep his distance and be gentle - he nods at him.

''Robin, I think we are all just very... tired. We are all very happy to have you home and I... I am sorry, for failing you. As the leader I --''

Robin rolls his eyes.

''Give it a rest, Kal. You blame yourself too much.''

Kaldur doesn't reply, just looks at him grimly. Such a typical thing of Robin to say; but of course Aqualad blames himself. How could he not? He is certain that had the roles been reversed, Robin would feel the same. He would have given anything for it to have been him, and not Robin, anything in the world. But he cannot change the past, and instead has to focus on making the now and the tomorrow a better place. For all of them. He's just not sure of how to even do that.

''Hey, how 'bout those cookies, eh?'' Wally smiles half-heartedly at M'gann who lits up with new and sudden enthusiasm.

''Sure! I - they are in the kitchen, come with me! Uncle J'onn and I made lemonade!''

Martian Manhunter narrows his eyes in tired frustration as he recalls the disastruous event of helping his niece in the kitchen - to take her mind off of everything, she was always closest to him and J'onn had wanted to do anything he could to ease her worry. The lemonade had almost lost them half the kitchen but at the end of the day it had all been fine. Just like this would be; like he would try with all his might to make it be. Not just for Robin, but for his niece, for their friends. J'onn had to remain hopeful.

''Sounds amazing, sugarcake!'' Wally puts his arm around her shoulders and M'gann is briefly thankful Conner is not there to see it. 

''Race you there?'' Robin says, then as an afterhought he adds, ''Twinkletoes''

Wally's eyes grow and narrow in irritation, huffing at the nickname he gives Robin a tentative smile.

''Got it, Birdbrain''

 

* * *

 

Everything is back to normal almost instantly and it's the silence that's really getting to him. It's not just Wally, the others see it too; Robin smiles and teases and flips around like normal. Too normal. Wally doesn't have a lot of torture victim experience but he's read enough to know that a trauma like that isn't something you just brush off. He watches Robin secretely, from the corner of his eye, but the boy never turns his back on anyone, never leaves himself unguarded, always watching, listening and anticipating.

Wally hovers around him just to keep an eye on him. It feels wrong because in a way it's almost like they're more traumatised by this than Robin himself - and it's weird, it's wrong because Robin should be the one crying but instead it's M'gann who can't sleep unless Conner comforts her and it's Artemis who's too nauseous to eat breakfast and Kaldur is the one silently brooding to himself. Wally is the one with the ants underneath his skin and this is wrong.

He knows he should be happy, knows he should be grateful because Robin is smiling and Robin is talking and moving freely. He doesn't limp nor sag his shoulders; the only small evidence Wally has seen of the experience is the constant trembling of his hands. It's in the kitchen when Robin is preparing some hot chocolate - M'gann is off to buy marshmallows because Wally ate them all last night when he couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking - and it's so bad he almost drops the cup twice. Wally wants to say something but doesn't know exactly what that would be.

It's okay? It's alright? Everything will be fine you were jus tortured for two weeks, these things happen, it's normal, we'll get over it? No words can convey what he feels because Wally doesn't even know how he feels. Except that he misses him, he misses Robin because Robin isn't there but at the same time Robin is still the same he always was but it feels like he's an impostor, a doppelgänger who lives in Robin's body and maybe Wally is the one going insane and none of this is really happening.

Batman said to take it easy. Well, he didn't say it with words but with a glare, but his intention was clear. Robin had a rough time, Robin was still jumpy and nervous and don't touch him, just give him some space. They didn't know what had happened, or if they did they wouldn't say; all they had revealed was that Robin had been tortured - ohgodohgodhgod - for weeks but he had no injuries, he had no physical evidence of anything except the last thing they did - what was the last ting they did? No one knew, because no one would tell them ,Wally didn't know - and there had been a meta in the group. A metahuman with the ability to heal any injury except death - Robin wasn't dead, he hadn't died, only nearly, barely, he was still alive and he was so _thankful_ because Robin was still there.

''KF?'' Robin waves his hand in front of Wally as the kid zones out; Wally seems to forget for a moment that he's even there.

''Huh?''

''Dude, spaced out on me there.'' He purses his lips in what looks like worry. Why is he worried what does he have to worry about can't he see Wally is the one who should be worried he -- ''You okay?''

''I'm fine'' Wally doesn't even believe himself but Robin says nothing of the clear strain in his voice.

''You want some hot chocolate?''

''Rob.'' Wally casts a quick look around. ''Dick.''

His face tightens at the mention of his name. Wally draws a hand through his hair.

''Are you... are... You're okay, right?''

''Of course I am, Wally'' The disbelieving frown looks genuine. ''Why wouldn't I be?''

''Dude, Rob... You can't... are you serious?'' Wally rubs his eyes but the tiredness won't go away. ''You've been... Robin, we heard what... We know they tortured you, we --''

Robin's face is shadowed in a sudden grimness, and something hard and cold switches on. 

''Wally, I'm fom Gotham. I'm used to this. C'mon, you think I haven't been beaten around before?''

Wally doesn't answer. There are too many things he wants to say, too many angry things and he doesn't want to fight with him. He wants to hug him and tell him it's fine it's good and alright and he's sorry he let them take him and he misses him and everything is going to be okay because Wally's here for him. But Wally doesn't say anything.

''Dick, are you - '' Wally reaches out a hand that has Robin flinch back so hard the beverage spills out on the floor; Wally can only look at him sadly as his best friend - as his more-than-that - shies away from him, as if Wally was something large and mean and out to hurt him. Wally would never hurt him, so why is Robin backing away from him why is he pushing back against the wall, why is he _looking_ at him like that?

Robin clears his throat, straightens out his clothes and looks away.

''I have to go... I have to practice my kick.''

Just like that, Dick is gone.  Wally's alone in the kitchen and there's such a mess everywhere and in his head, he has to sit down because he can't breathe and -- Wally just wants to know what to do.

 

* * *

 

  
Bruce decides to pick him up after his weekend at the mountain - because it feels safer, because he doesn't want him on the R-cycle right now, because Clark can't fly him everywhere - because Bruce just wants to spend some time with him. Robin welcomes the ride home; he hasn't been in the Batmobile for weeks and he's missed it and the way the motor hums and the glimmer of the dashboard and the way the lights flash by the window and how fast it is, it almost feels like flying even when they're not and -- and he's missed Bruce so much it hurts.

Dick doesn't do more but enter the seat when it hits him -- the smell is so strong it might as well have punched him in the face. Dick hadn't thought about the seats, hadn't thought about the leather hadn't thought that it would be a problem but suddenly he has to vomit and Bruce seems to see it in his body language because the man has pulled over in the nick of time. Robin throws the door open and hurtles himself out into the ditch, where his stomach is doing it's best to evacuate his body; he thinks he can feel it crawling up his throat.

Batman waits patiently for the vomiting to stop. Robin doesn't get up for a long, long time.  Silently, Bruce is by his side and Robin doesn't even notice.

''Is everything...?'' Bruce doesn't know how to finish. 

''I'm fine.'' Robin says quickly. ''I just... must've eaten something bad.''

Bruce doesn't believe him, he knows he doesn't believe him but Robin wants to pretend for as long a he can. Wants to ignore the truth for as long as possible because maybe if they don't speak about it eventually it will go away.

''I don't want to get back into the 'mobile.'' Dick says then, almost guiltily. Bruce frowns but nevertheless gets his communicator on.

''Alfred, I need you to get the limousine and ---''

''No'' Dick says then. ''Not that one either.'' Leather interior and mahogany dashboard and everything tasteful but the smell - it will be horrible and Dick can't understand why he's being so silly -- ''I ... Maybe I should find another way back. I could... Get the R-cycle...''

''You're in no condition to drive.''

He needs to get into the Batmobile, needs to get into the seats - this is ridiculous, is he supposed to never ride the car again? Is he supposed to walk everywhere or always rely on his bike? What a great dynamic duo if they can't even travel together and -- Dick stands up and takes a breath, drawing his hands over his face and through his hair and tries to calm down.

''Never mind'' Bruce says to Alfred over the comlink and starts to walk back to the car. All the while he is casting glances at his ward, suspicious glances as Robin won't stop twitching and trembling like he's had too much caffeine. When Batman has gotten into his seat several minutes pass by when Robin is just standing there, staring at the door on the passenger side.

''Robin, get in the car''

Robin flinches at the harsh tone of his voice. He would feel guilty but it's 3 am and they're in the middle of nowhere and they need to get _home_.

  
Robin takes a deep breath and when he finally enters the Batmobile it is with tightly closed eyes. Batman watches him warily but soon begins to drive. When Robin is near hyperventilating again, Batman reaches into a compartment and hands him a paper bag. Robin doesn't speak, just grabs it and almost instantly , like he's been waiting for permission,vomits even more than he thought was possible. His throat is raw and burning and his stomach feels like it's eating itself from the inside out. 

Bruce doesn't know what to do. He always knows everything, always has an answer but this time when he really needs it, his mind is as blank as it is dark.

''I'm sorry'' The words are so small he almost misses them completely.

''Excuse me?''

''I'm -- I'm sorry'' Dick says between the dry heaves and it's almost like he's afraid to look at Bruce. ''I'm so sorry I should have been better, I'm sorry I got caugh, I was stupid and I failed and I'm so sorry I couldn't --- I couldn't remember, couldn't go into the trance, I couldn't remember the training and I am so sorry, Bruce, I --''

Bruce grinds his teeth down hard before he answers.

''Dick. What do I always tell you?''

Dick finds the contents of his bag more appealing to look at.

''The most important thing is to know how to adapt. It doesn't matter how well you plan the world because the world doesn't care, Dick. Not getting captured is always the goal but that can't always happen. Sometimes plans backfire and we find ourselves in a tight spot and that is when we adapt. If we can't do that, we are as good as dead and you... you adapted, Richard.'' Bruce looks at him from the corner of his eye. ''You adapted and you made it and that is all I can ever ask of you.''

Dick wants to cry but can't let himself -- Bruce doesn't need to see him so weak and pathetic and stupid and he should just shake it off already, snap out and take it like a hero but his head won't stop spinning.

''Dick, I'm... '' Proud of you? But he can't say that, can't form the words on his tongue because they always die before he opens his mouth, but he wants him to know, damn it, he needs him to know that he isn't angry. ''I'm sorry.''

Dick finally manages to look at him.

''For what?''

''For...'' Failing, for leaving him to that hell, for not being there, for not being enough. For letting him down - ''I shouldn't have let this happen. I... Maybe...'' Bruce sighs. ''Maybe you shouldn't be Robin anymore.''

  
For a moment his entire body stops. The world starts to spin faster and faster like a ride he can't stay on, but he can't get off either and wants to scream but has no voice.

''No. Nononononnono... Bruce, I need this. Gotham needs me. Gotham needs _us_. You can't... you can't fire me like that!''

''I'm not firing you, I'm just... Dick you almost died, you... You're just a boy and it was _stupid_  of me to even let you out in the first place''

Bruce can feel the burning glare of hatred burning the back of his head.

''No. No, you don't get to do that! Damn it, Bruce, I need this! Of course it's dangerous, of course bad things happen but does that mean you shy away from what's right because you're afraid of what might go wrong! The Batman I know wouldn't think like that, he'd make sure it never happened to anyone else and what if it does, Bruce? What if it happens to someone else and I'm not there to save them and -- I can't let it happen again, Bruce. Being Robin is the only thing... only thing that makes _sense_ , that feels right anymore and you... you can't _do_ that to me!''

Because if he's not Robin he's just a victim and he never ever wants to be a victim. Maybe if he gets it right next time he can redeem himself, maybe he can be salvaged and maybe if he can help someone else he can help himself and everything will be alright. It has to be. He has to believe that something, anything will make thins better.

Truth be told Dick doesn't know how to even breathe without Robin because Robin is as much a part of him as Dick Grayson is.

''I... know that it means... _what_ it means to you. I just don't want anything to happen to you, and...''

And nothing, because Bruce doesn't know what he can possibly say to make it all right again.

 

* * *

 

 

Bruce notices him even before he makes his appearance known, but J'onn knows that. It is probably superfluous of him to even greet him because from the second he set foot in the Batcave, Bruce knew. J'onn is sure the man understands very well what's on his mind, too; one needn't be a mind-reader for that. Despite that, J'onn still clears his throat and still says a rustling, deep ''Good evening'' - because it's the polite thing to do.

''Have you assessed the situation?'' is Bruce's way of saying Good evening to you, too, nice of you to drop by. But J'onn knows that so he lets the abbrasive impoliteness slide. As he always does.

''There were not many people who knew'' J'onn sighs as he cannot figure out how to phrase the information; does not know if he wants to phrase it at all. ''The man... behind the torture, the Ornithologist as he calls himself, he knew, of course. His mind is taken care of. Zatara was very helpful.''

''You got everything?''

''Yes.''

''All of it?''

''... yes.''

Bruce glares at him.

''Are you sure?''

J'onn suppresses a sigh.

''Yes. He is... what is the phrase? Clean as a whistle?''

Bruce snorts irritably.

''Who else?''

''The metahuman, she goes by the name of -- ''

''Primrose. Yes.''

''... and the men who were... who...'' J'onn stops and by the look on his face he doesn't look intent on finishing the sentence. But he doesn't have to, Bruce already knows. Of course he knows.

''Who assaulted him.'' he says coldly, matter-of-factly. ''And they are taken care of?''

''Everyone. I erased all memory of his identity. We have done thorough examinations and no one else seems to know.''

''Seems to?''

This time J'onn can't help but sigh. Loudly.

''Batman, I understand that this is very personal for you but --''

''But what, J'onn?''

''You need to trust us.''

Not until after the words come out does he realize what a futile request it is. Batman trusting anyone, an alien especially, is as absurd as it is stupid. Still, J'onn doesn't know what else to say to ease the man's worries. There is nothing _to_ say, really.

''How did you adapt to the school?'' Bruce says instead.

''It was... an interesting experience. It was very educational, pardon the pun.''

Bruce's face is hard for a moment, as if his mind is deep in conflict. Not that J'onn would know; his mental walls are nearly impossible to break through and he wants to respect his friend's privacy.

''Thank you.'' Bruce says, flatly but the Martian knows that he means it. ''You saved me a lot of trouble of coming up with an excuse for Robin's absence.''

''It is fine, I was just glad to help. Although I must say I did not appreciate his... math homework. I hope I did not cause any permanent damage to his grades.''

Bruce cocks a brow but decides not to dwell on it. There are more important things than Dick's grades; keeping the press oblivious is worth whatever B he may recieve. Not that it's very likely; his teachers love him and two bad weeks in math can probably be ignored. J'onn has agreed to play the role until Robin feels ready to return to his school, which could be never or tomorrow - Bruce doesn't want to push it, not this time.

''There is another... thing'' the Martian says after a long silence. Bruce only looks at him inquiringly. J'onn furrows his brow and looks away, not sure of how to put it. ''There has... I have detected a wall in his mind.''

''A wall?''

''Yes'' he nods. ''A... mental proteciton, a shield, so to speak. As if there is something in his mind that he has sealed off. Like...'' he purses his lips as he searches for the right words. ''Like putting something in a box and locking it away deep in a closet.''

Bruce sighs, almost inaudibly but J'onn notices. He says nothing but he notices.

''He isn't dealing with it'' Bruce says more as a statement than a question. Because he knows, had his suspicions, already noticed that Dick wasn't coping in the way he should, wasn't reacting predictably and Bruce knows but he doesn't know what to do. He knows a lot of things but nothing that really seems to matter.

''No. He is... ignoring it.'' J'onn shakes his head. ''I do not know for how long this wall will last; it is a strong one, thanks to you, I would imagine.''

He's not entirely certain but it almost looks as if Bruce is -- hurt, by the statement. He hopes he has imagined it.  
  
''It will crumble, with time'' the Martian continues on. ''I cannot tell at the moment how hard it will crash when it does, but... I would suggest he seeks counceling. He is... bottling?'' Bruce nods. ''Bottling things up. They will emerge eventually. When it does he... he needs you to be there.''

Bruce doesn't answer, doesn't look at him as instead his gaze is fixed on the floor.  ''He needs us to be there. Batman, are you listening?''

''Yes.''

Martian Manhunter watches him in grim contemplation for a moment. 

''Have you told them?''

Bruce's face is hard and cold and angry and J'onn knows he should probably not be asking at this time, when Batman is still upset, when they're all still afraid and angry and devastated but they need to be professional. They need to keep calm and do as much damage control as they can. Had it been a perfect world he would not need to ask the question, but the world is as imperfect as it is cruel and he has to make sure things are as well as they can be.

''No.'' Bruce pushes out the words like they are glass on his tongue. ''Neither shall any of you.''

''It could be ... It is my strong opinion that they need to know. They are a team and as such --''

''It is none of their business what happened to him. They know what they need to know and nothing more.''

''It could be crucial in the field. What if something happens, what if something triggers him and -- ''

''I know Robin and I know the team. They do not need to know so they will not know until I say differently.''

J'onn sighs, but decides that the mentor knows the protégé the best. Had it been M'gann he is sure he would react the same. Though he cannot know because he isn't in the same position and he is thankful in so many more ways than he can fully understand because if this had happened to M'gann he does not know what he would have done. And it is with respect and, perhaps even admiration, that he looks at Bruce before he decides he has said what he came to say.

When the Martian Manhunter turns around to leave, Bruce doesn't even say goodbye. But he doesn't have to; J'onn knows him well enough to see when it is written in his movements and, as always, he simply lets it be.

 

* * *

 

The boy doesn't sleep much, anymore. Not that he ever really did; he and master Bruce always shared the same, strange habits. He knows bats are nocturnal but the amount of wakeness lately has been disturbing. The young master is sluggish and slow, ailed by the sleep deprivation yet in no inclination to remedy it. Alfred does not say anything, he knows it is not in his place but he... he wishes for something, something to ease the young boy's worries. If only just a little.

It is the fifth night when he hears the shower go off again, almost as on cue. The young master doesn't sleep, only spends hours in the shower so that when master Bruce gets up and showers for work there is but a minute of warm water left. But master Bruce says nothing of it, he merely showers in the ice cold water and gets dressed like it is normal of him to do.

It is five a.m and Alfred cannot sleep because the young master cannot sleep and, though he has gotten used to the strangeness of the Wayne's last living son, the newest member of their family is still capable of worrying him at times when he is taking after his guardian a tad too much. Alfred cannot keep at ease tonight and instead he bakes some scones for the young master. Not that he has been eating anything lately, and Alfred knows the young ward has been vomiting - even Bruce doesn't know it happens as much as it does - and he's getting worried. But he has not mentioned it, has decided to leave the boy be and wait for him. He trusts that the young master will know when he needs him and when the time comes, Alfred will be right there.

When Dick enters the kitchen later, the scones are just out of the oven and he looks mildly surprised to see Alfred there.

''Alfie, why're you still up?'' he says groggily, his body dragging him towards sleep but his mind as awake and on edge as ever.

''I figured you might be hungry at this hour, master Dick. Would you care for a scone?''

Dick gives him a lopsided grin. With a small sigh he sits down by the kitchen bar, plopped up on the same stool as he always chooses; Alfred fondly remember the first weeks when he came to stay with the family. Just like now he couldn't sleep, but he would be awake in the gym for hours and hours and eventually Alfred got tired of worrying. So he got up and made it a habit to bake some scones for him. Just like now Dick had been surprised, but had accepted the quiet comfort nevertheless. Alfred knew it was different now, it was a wound that hurt differently, but he decided he would try and if nothing else, the boy would at least get something to eat.

The boy sits silent as he smears some marmalade on the scone. He spreads it for minutes, hypnotized by the knife.

''Master Dick, I do believe you have an ample amount of marmalade already. There is no need to wear the knife out.''

Dick looks at him shyly underneath his bangs and, mildly embarrassed, puts the knife back. Th esilence continues as Alfred pours him some tea and Dick just keeps staring at the scone, not looking intent on actually eating it. Holding back a sigh the butler sits down and pours the tea --

' _'So, as you see, it wasn't my fault that they withdrew my medical license. People just can't accept a true genius, you know? Sure, I may be a bit eccentric about my methods but... clearly, they weilded results, so why treat me so unfairly?''_

_The man has been talking incessantly for hours and he knows he should take all the information in as it can prove useful later, but honestly he's not so sure there will even be a later. Robin - well, Dick now, he supposes - is trying hard to keep hope alive but the more time that stretches and the more blood he loses that objective is proving hard to uphold. He feels fine, physically, but his mind is tired and worn and he feels unable to even focus briefly. He's drifting in and out of conciousness but never enough to disappear completely. Every time he feels like death is finally nearing him, the metahuman fixes him right back up again._  
_''_

_Enough talking about me, let's hear about you! Who are your friends? Where do they go to school?' Where do they live?'_

''Master Dick?''

_Bach is still playing in the background and on more than one occasion the man has walked in rhythm, like he wants to dance but doesn't have the time. The woman sits on a chair by the record player, watching them in detached indifference. Dick panics briefly about his mask, but since he's not really expecting to survive this he supposes it doesn't matter. The man doesn't seem to recognize his face, doesn't seem to realize he has a millionare ward at his disposal so for the moment Bruce's secret is safe. The only thing important right now is to keep Bruce safe._

_''Rooobiiiin'' the man says in a sing-song voice. ''I'm getting very impatient with you. You have to give me something soon or I am going to be very annoyed.''_

''Richard.''

Dick snaps his eyes up to the butler like he forgot he was even there and for a moment he looks confused; it takes a while before he recognizes the kitchen counters and the smell of his tea and Dick can't breathe  --

_''Go to hell'' Dick says flatly._

_''Hmm'' the ornithologist shakes his head. ''I was afraid you'd say that.''_

_He holds a little vial gently in his hands, turning it over a few times before he lets it hover over Dick's face._

_''Robin. Please. I don't want to hurt you.''_

\-- the images surge into his mind like cold water in a leaking basement and Dick is having a hard time remembering where he is, is having a hard time holding on to reality as it blends and melds into fantasy. Alfred morphs into someone else, his kind, dignified face twists into something crueler, something ugly and --

_Dick turns his head away and closes his eyes, says nothing --- hoping that maybe if he pretends the man isn't there eventually he will go away. The man tips the vial only minimally, enough for one little drop to fall out and land on his cheek. It burns almost instantly and is powerful enough to corrode all through to his muscle. Dick bites back the scream - probably wouldn't even know how to scream at this point - and a blinding, mind-numbing pain scorches through his jaw._

_''Last chance, boy. Who are they?''_

Alfred puts a hand on his and Dick locks down almost immediately. His eyes so closely shut spots form behind his eyelids and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts it _hurts_ and

 

 _Dick spits at him again, though the gob is small and pathetic. His mouth is so dry._  
The man's eyes glimmer and suddenly there is something so inhuman in them, it's as if all his emotions have fled him.  
  


 

_The man shakes his head and, almost sadly, tips the vial over._

Dick is screaming and he doesn't know when he landed on the floor, doesn't feel the warm tiles, he just feels the coldness of the operating table and the burning of his face. The restraints are hard and closing in on him and he can't breathe and someone is touching him and Dick just wants to get away --

''Master Richard, please. Calm down. Remember to breathe. _Breathe_ , Dick!''

And Dick does as he says and sucks in the air like he's never breathed before and for a moment his head stands on mute. When his breathing slows down and the touch finally gets off him the kitchen ceiling swims back into view -- in and out like a bad reception on an old TV and -- and Dick is sweating and shaking and suddenly he wants to vomit again.

Alfred looks at him quietly, but something sad and something awful stirs in his gut as he watches the boy squirm and shake and stumble on his own breaths -- at least he's stopped screaming and Alfred is briefly grateful that master Bruce is out on patrol because he does not doubt the man's clumsy attempts at fatherhood would be very unhelpful in this moment.

Dick just looks around like a frightened animal released into the wild, expecting the poachers to attack him the moment he feels safe, the moment he lets his guard down and Dick doesn't understand what's _happening_.

''I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry'' he keeps repeating like it's the only thing that keeps him in touch with here he is, and Alfred doesn't know what he's seeing or what he is sorry for, but he has seen enough trauma victims in his time at the British intelligence services to know that it doesn't matter. No matter what Dick sees Alfred can't begin to understand it, so he merely remembers his training - integrated so deeply within him it is almost like breathing - and attempts to calm the boy down.

It takes him many minutes, maybe even an hour, before Dick is finally calm and not looking pale as a sheet. He is still trembling when he gets up on his feet and his head is bowed in deep embarrassment. Dick tries not to get lost inside his own head but there is so much noise and suddenly he feels so filthy -- he doesn't even look at Alfred before he runs out of the kitchen.

Alfred hears the whining of the pipes and knows that the shower is on again. The butler sighs and shakes his head, but knows there is nothing more that he can do. Instead he cleans the table and throws the two uneaten scones away; bags the others for breakfast and even as he's washing the cups his hands are shaking.


	4. Four

The anger written on their faces is hard to miss; he just can't understand  _why_  they're so angry. Everyone is looking at him like he just did something horrible but he just did what they always do. He went on the mission and he beat up the bad guys and in the end they saved the day. So he doesn't understand why Artemis' arms are crossed or Kaldur's jaw is tense, why M'gann isn't looking at him, why Conner's fists are shaking in barely contained fury or why Wally is fidgeting so much more than usual.  
  
It had seemed like the right thing to do at first, but the more time that elapses, the more they start to feel like they’ve made a big mistake. The first mission is normal, except maybe something is wrong, something they can't really put their finger on but it is there and it is evident, if yet unclear. They say nothing of Robin's kicks that land just a bit too hard and his punches that crush one too many bones; they can accept it, for the moment.

He is not killing or crippling anyone and he's bound to have some pent up rage so for a while they let it slide. But the second mission gets worse, and Robin lunges into battle before Kaldur can even say the word. He throws himself into the situation of armed, dangerous, dangerous men and he doesn't even seem to  _care_.  
  
''C'mon guys, I just fought a bad guy'' Robin says and Wally can barely contain himself.  
  
''No, you almost  _crippled_  a bad guy!''  
  
''So I was a lil' rough on him, that's not unusual, he --''  
  
''A little  _rough_? Rob, I've never seen you like that! You -- you're always in control, dude, you... It was like you totally lost it!''  
  
''He had a gun!'' Robin is close to yelling, gesturing in exasperation. ''What was I supposed to do?! Let him shoot you?!''  
  
They all felt it, felt that something wasn't really right, that something was missing, lacking, like something in Robin's head had been switched off but - but no one said anything at first because it doesn't feel right to bother him. Not now, not when he's been through so much. If they just let him let out the rage and blow off some of the steam, maybe then they won't have to fix him.

Maybe he'll be right as rain and everything could be normal again.  
  
But it is futile, childish thinking and Kaldur curses himself because he should have seen it coming. He should have anticipated and prepared and the fact that he didn't makes him doubt his position as leader for the thousandth time.  


Robin notices the  _pity_  in his eyes and it makes him angrier than their accusations ever could. It makes him angry that after everything, every time he's proven himself they still think of him as a stupid child even though he has more experience, better training, than any of them.  
  
''Look, I know my job! I'm good at what I do. Why can't you trust me on that?''  
  
Artemis lets out a sarcastic laugh.  
  
''Yeah! That's rich! Us trusting the batboy who can't even turn his back on us.''  
  
Robin's face tightens and his hands curl into shaking fists.  
   
''Maybe if you would  _back off_  for a second! I don't need a babysitter!''  
  
''No, you need help''  
  
''What's  _that_  supposed to mean?'' Robin looks around at them and suddenly everyone but Artemis is too ashamed to meet his gaze. ''Kal? Con?  _Wally_?''

Wally just scratches his neck, his eyes dart around to anything but him and Robin doesn't understand why they're not looking at him. Like they're afraid of him, like -- maybe they're disgusted revolted repulsed because they  _know_  what if they all know what happened what if ---  
  
Robin feels the familiar taste of bile in the back of his throat but he keeps it down, can't break down now when they're already looking at him like he's just escaped from Arkham.  
  
''I see'' he spits out through tightly clenched teeth. ''You think... You think I'm...''  
  
''Rob, it's -- we care about you, alright?''

Robin doesn't dignify his best friend with a look and it hurts but Wally knows these things need to be said.  
  
''So let me take care of it! I'm not -- I'm not  _helpless_  I'm just -- '' he just wants them to look at him like they used to, as a friend and teammate, as an equal, not as a wounded animal; as something they scraped off the road and took home, not something they feel sorry for he -- knows he doesn't deserve it, knows he lost control, knows he had his chance and he let them down and he's a failurfailurefailure and it's  _his_  fault he was captured and Robin should have been more, he should have been enough but it's never enough he just wants to be enough --  
  
''Robin’’ Kaldur tries to sound calm, if yet firm. ‘’You disobeyed my direct orders. You know that for us to work as a team I need you all to work in symbiosis. I need you to listen to my commands.'' Kaldur's eyes are determined but understanding – always the diplomat – his voice a perfect blend of tough and caring. ''You endangered not only the hostages but your team as well; you rushed into that scene without planning. You almost got yourself killed and you almost got our positions compromised --''  
  
''Fine!'' Robin can't stop himself from yelling now. ''I get it! It's really nice of you to take me out on a mission to make me feel included -- '' the vicious sarcasm is coming off his body in waves, his voice radiating bitterness and  _betrayal_. ''But drop the charity charade, will you?''  
  
''Robin, that is  _not_  what I was implying --''  
  
''Well, what are you implying, oh, fearless leader?! That I'm not sufficient, that I'm not good enough? That I'm  _weak_?!''  
  
The silence is hard and unforgiving for a long moment during which Robin tries to stop his knees from shaking, tries to stop his stomach from contorting but it's becoming too much, too much inside his head and he's starting to lose control.  
  
''Robin, I assure you... No one here thinks anything like that about you. We know you're good at what you do, there is – there is nothing more we can ask of you, Robin, but I need you to understand... I  _know_  you understand the importance of a good leader-member relationship.''  
  
''We're just  _trying_  to look out for you'' Artemis snaps. ''Why can't you see that? Why do you have to treat us like we're the enemy? We're  _not your enemy_ , Robin!''  
  
''Why -- '' Robin swallows down the lump in his throat but it only grows bigger. ''-- why is it so weird to you that I wanted to protect you?''  
  
Conner looks up at him for the first time in days, since he got home Conner hasn't met his eyes and Robin has gotten angry, furious, like Conner thinks he's dirty.

   
''You endangered civilians, you used excessive violence on the guilty and you compromised your team'' Kaldur says calmly. ''You must understand why we are upset.''  
  
Robin bows his head and suddenly he feels cold. Every emotion that roared inside him has suddenly gone quiet, and left is nothing but an echoing sense of emptiness.  
  
''I...'' but he doesn't know what to say because he can't even remember doing any of those things; all he remembers was saving innocents and punishing the guilty and it was fine, they made it out with no major injuries or setbacks and it was okay. ''C'mon, it's... We saved the day, guys. Isn't that what counts?''

Conner recognizes the anger in him, knows what it does and how it blinds one's mind and he understands, but he can't understand more than that because Robin looks like a stranger; he looks so lonely and frightened and it's not the hero that he got to know, this isn't Robin, this is someone damaged.  
  
''Sometimes… sometimes when I get angry'' Conner tries to find the words but his mind is a mess of questions and -- and  _fear_.

But he doesn't know what he could possibly be afraid of; he is invulnerable, nothing can ever hurt him, so why is he so scared that something bad will happen? Every time someone leaves the room, when he's alone he wonders if they'll return and Conner is forced to realize that they're not strong like him. Not invulnerable or tough like he is. They could all die so easily and there would be nothing he could do about it. Human beings are _fragile_.

''I forget where I am and all I can see is the object that I want to destroy. Maybe... maybe you lost... sight, of things.''  
  
M'gann squeezes his hand in encouragement but Conner can't even offer her a tiny smile.  
  
''Look, I'm sorry, okay?'' Robin pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. ''It won't happen again.''  
  
And Robin is confused and Robin is scared because he doesn't understand what he did  _wrong_  and he doesn't understand why they're so angry with him. They're still looking at him like he did something wrong - like he did something unforgivable and horrible but he can't  _remember_  what he did.  
  
''I think... maybe you should take it easy for a while.'' Kaldur says and at seeing the horror on the boy's face he is quick to clarify. ''No, I am not suspending you! I just think... that maybe you need some time to sort out your thoughts. I could teach you some meditation techniques to calm you down and... maybe we could focus on strengthening our bonds as a team before you go out on any more missions.''  
  
Robin's fists are trembling and his knees are shaking so hard he can barely stand up and Robin just wants to  _punch him_.  
  
''So that's it, huh?'' Robin smiles but it's sad and strained and wounded and Kaldur has to try so hard not to tear his eyes away. ''Just like that? Fine. If that's... that's how you feel I...'' he understands why no one would want him. Why would anyone ever want him again after what he did? Batman wants him off, of course his team would too. Robin almost feels stupid for not having seen it coming but he can't fight the hurt that is rising in his chest because they're his  _friends_ , for Christ's sake. They shouldn't -- shouldn't do this to him, it's unfair of them to punish him when he hasn't even done anything wrong.  
  
Robin rubs his eyes tiredly and in that moment he looks so young.  
  
''No'' he says then and his voice is firm. ''No, Kaldur, you... Not you too. Not...'' They're supposed to be his friends, supposed to be his family and instead they are throwing him out like garbage. He draws a heavy sigh as the anger fights and coils within him; so many emotions die and resurface he's unsure of what to do. The only thing he does know is that he's exhausted and he just needs to rest. But how can he rest knowing no one trusts him anymore?   
  
When words fail him, when emotions and logic and sense flees his body, all Robin can do is turn around and leave.  
  
''Rob, come on!'' Wally shouts after him and slight panic tinges his voice. ''Rob, he didn't mean it like that! Kal, tell him you didn't  _mean it like that_!''  
  
The look he gives the Atlantean is desperate and pleading but Kaldur can't let his guilt cloud his senses. He knows it is the right thing to do, not only for him or the team but for Robin as well. At least, he thinks it's the right thing to do. He truly  _hopes_  it is, but he can't be sure of anything anymore. Kaldur doesn't want the responsibility, doesn't want the burden but he knows he has to take it. It wouldn't be fair of him not to take it and he just needs to make sure he can keep them together. He has to make sure they will get through this.

Look what you did!'' Wally’s pacing has doubled in speed. ''You... you scared him off! Nice work,  _Kaldur_! Now we'll never get to see him again and how could you  _say that_?! What if he never comes back, Kal? Huh? What if he never wants to come back here again?''  
  
''Kid Flash, please, you must see my reasoning. Surely, you do not ... you must understand where I'm coming from, here?''  
  
''All I know is that Rob needs us, more than ever and you're shutting him out! What's he supposed to do? Get hugs and support from the goddamn  _Batman_?!''  
  
''Wally, you're angry. I - if you calm down, maybe we can --'' but M'gann doesn't get to finish the sentence as Wally's glare rips all words from her mouth.   
  
''Guys, come  _on_! This is Robin!''  
  
''No, it's not'' Artemis meets his eyes defiantly. She's too tired to fight but Wally isn't giving her much choice. ''It's not Robin, Wally. It's... have you seen the look on his face?''  
  
Wally looks around in paranoia, force of habit after hanging out with the Boy Wonder for too long. It wouldn't surprise him if the boy is listening in on them from the shadows.  
  
''He's a mess, Wally. He's a mess and we can't clean it up for him when we're  _in the crossfire_. I agree with Kaldur. I think he should stay out of the missions until he...''  
  
''Until what? Until he's better? You don't _get_ better from this type of thing, Artemis! What if -- what if he never gets better? What if -- '' What if Robin is gone? What if he lost him that day and the stranger in his shoes is there to stay forever? What if Wally really lost his best friend and what if, what if he won't ever come back? What does he do then? Wally doesn't know, he doesn't even want to think about it because thinking about it means it's a possibility, but the harder he pushes against the thoughts the louder they tear through his head. ''I... He's our friend. We... we have to help him.''  
  
And Wally feels powerless and small and stupid.   
  
''We will'' Conner speaks up from his contemplative silence.  
  
''How?'' Wally's voice is coarse and his shoulders slump as the anger drains to give way for desperation. ''How could we... How does anyone...''  
  
''Don't know'' Conner admits. ''But we'll find out.''  
  
Wally sighs and shakes his head.  
  
''Rob needs this.''  
  
Kaldur puts a hand on his shoulder and is pleased when the speedster doesn't shrug it off. Wally just looks at him and he's so tired and worn and he just wants everything to go back to  _normal_.  
  
''Wally, I am not suspending him. I am just... keeping an eye on him, alright? I still... I want him to take some time to himself, for a while. Just a little while, to collect his thoughts, and then we will see. Alright?''  
  
But they're wrong they're so  _wrong_  because they don't know him like Wally does; they don't know that Robin has to keep busy has to keep moving or else his demons will consume him. Whenever Robin has a tough time he just needs to do something - he can't be still and Kaldur is talking about putting him in suspension and Wally can't let them do it; can't stand idly by and watch as they do something so _stupid_.  
  
''I am just trying to help'' Kaldur says. ''We all just want what's best for him  _and_  the team.''  
  
''You don't get it.'' Wally lets out a sighs of resignation. ''Fine. Whatever. I'll do it myself, then.''  
  
''Where are you going?'' Artemis shouts after him as Wally starts to walk away.  
  
''Unlike you I'm actually going to try to help him!''  
  
Artemis wants to run and punch him, hit him with something until the boy can't tell up from down but she controls herself. One more compromised member wouldn't be good, so instead she takes ten deep breaths and clenches her fists to keep them from attacking anything.  
  
''Jerk''

 

* * *

 

 

As Wally gets home it is already dawn but he has no intention to sleep. He had to run around a while, had to blow off some steam, something to clear his head but as his legs finally tire he has reached no new conclusions. Instead he presses the communicator hard, unnecessarily so, and waits for the person on the other line to answer him.  
  
''Kid Flash to Robin, are you there?''  
  
But there is no answer and while Wally rummages through the fridge, the seconds tick idly by with no words breaking through the silence.  
  
''Rob, come on, pickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickup _pickup_!''  
  
There are rustlings coming from upstairs and since Wally doesn't want to wake anyone, he grabs an armful of food and heads to his room. He attempts to reach Robin between the bites, but after all the food is consumed and his legs start to feel better, Robin has yet to pick up. He hopes he's sleeping, but if he knows his friend right the kid is probably wide awake. It stings that he would willingly give Wally the silent treatment like this, but considering the circumstances he can't say he's all that surprised.  
  
Begrudgingly, Wally attempts a last resort.  
  
''Kid Flash to Batman, are you there?''  
  
Only static answers him. Not that it is unusual for Batman to ignore him, but Wally really needs to talk to him and if he thinks he can avoid Wally West of all people - well, he's got another thing coming.  
  
''Bats, I know where you live! Pickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickup --''  
  
He spends five full minutes repeating angry messages into the communicator; or, at least he thinks it's that long, but admittedly, his perception of time is a little skewed.  
  
''-- pickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickup  _pick up, damn it!_  Pickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickup, I know where your work is pickuppickuppickuppickuppickuppickup or I will come into your cave and --''  
  
'' _What do you want?_ '' The voice is grim and stern as usual but he seems a bit more annoyed than normal, which is not entirely unexpected as it is quite late - early? - and Wally is nagging him like only a speedster can.   
  
''What's going on, Bats?''  
  
'' _You are disturbing me in the middle of important work, Kid Flash. I hope you have a good explanation for this._ ''  
  
''Dude, what's going on? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling us!''  
  
'' _You will have to be a bit more specific_ ''  
  
Wally groans loudly.   
  
''You know what I mean! What's going on? Bats, what's  _wrong with him_?''

When only silence greets him over the link, Wally starts to wonder if the other’s switched his communicator off.

''Bats’’ He pleads. ‘’I know him. I know when something’s wrong. I know something is up but I just... I'm not  _stupid_ , Batman''  
  
'' _I have given you all the information that you need._ ''  
  
''But --''  
  
'' _Batman **out**_.''  
  
The link is dead and silent and Wally doesn't dare to breathe in case the man will change his mind, say something else but only too quietly for Wally to hear him. But nothing is heard in his ear and he just sits there mutely, dumbly staring at the wall as the radio static tells him nothing.  
  
It seems, he thinks, that there's only one thing left for him to do.

 

* * *

 

 

''Master Dick, someone is here to see you.''  
  
Dick wipes the dripping ends of his hair with the towel; after his morning work-out he had just the time to shower before the butler knocks on the bathroom door. Dick pulls a t-shirt over his head and hops into his jeans, hangs the towel neatly on its rack and opens the door to peek questioningly at the older man.  
  
''What time is it?''  
  
''It is six ante meridiem, I believe.''  
  
Dick frowns.   
  
''Who'd come see me at this hour?''  
  
Alfred smiles.  
  
''A most  _impatient_  young gentleman, master Dick.''  
  
Dick makes an annoyed face. Of course it had to be Wally. He can't taken a hint when Dick ignores him for half the morning - something which is really hard to do – and _of course_ he'd come over. When Wally's mind is set on something he can't get his mind off it. Instead he is drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Nothing else could exist before he got it out of his system.  
  
When Dick reaches the enormous hallway the older teen is, as expected, already there. The moment he sees him, Wally’s entire face is alight with joy. Dick can't remember the last time he saw him so excited, but it’s gone just as quickly.  
   
''What are  _you_  doing here?''  
  
''Just uuuuh…’’ Wally finds an incredibly interesting spot on the ceiling. ‘’Thought I'd swing by, you know, say hello and all that. Socialize with my best bud''  
  
''Wally, it's  _six a.m_. I didn't think it was physically possible for you to be awake before noon.''  
  
Wally gives him a half-hearted glare.  
  
''Dude, uncool! I get up early! Sometimes’’ He pauses. ‘’Occassionally.''  
  
'’Uh huh''  
  
''Could we, you know, go somewhere?'' Then he adds in a whisper '' _Private._ ''  
  
Dick looks a bit alarmed at first, but eventually nods towards the stairs.  
  
''Fine. We can go to my room.''  
  
The two don't speak at all on their way up the stairs and it's making Wally nervous. The muscles in Dick's back are tense through his oversized Superman t-shirt. He can’t tell if the shirt is just too large, but he looks thinner, as if that was even possible because he was  _already_  so scrawny.   
  
''Sometimes I feel like you spend more time in your head than in the real world'' Dick's voice says from outside, form the real world and only now does Wally realize he's in the boy's room. His huge, fancy room which Wally is only kinda, maybe a little bit jealous of. ''So, what'd you want to talk about?''

The redhead glances at the door standing wide open.  
  
''Uh... could we close that? I don't want any eavesdroppers.''  
  
Dick's body tenses only minimally, but Wally sees it.  
  
''I'd... rather not.''  
  
Wally sighs.   
  
''Dick, c'mon. I won't  _hurt_  you'' Dick should know this already, damn it. He should know that Wally would be the last person on Earth to ever, ever hurt him but he doesn’t, he doesn’t and suddenly the door makes him so angry he wants to break it down. He wants to smash every door in the entire world so that Dick can never ever shut him out like this.

''Come on, man. It's  _me_!’’ he says with false bravado. ‘’It's the Walman! I won't murder you, I swear!''  
  
Dick looks guilty for a second, suddenly having trouble meeting Wally's eyes.  
  
''Fine’’ he mumbles. ‘’Close it.''  
  
Wally quickly closes the door but still makes sure to keep far away from the other. The tenseness in his shoulders is only getting worse until Dick has to sit on his hands because they just won't stop shaking. He tries not to think of it, tries not to take it personally because come on, the kid was tortured and abused and of course that makes you edgy and nervous and it's not like the Batfamily isn't unhealthily paranoid to begin with. Batman wouldn't even let Dick sleep over at the mountain for weeks because he thought they may try something. It still feels ridiculous, but he tries not to think about it too hard.

  
''Dick, what's wrong?''  
  
The boy doesn't answer him, just looks at his own feet like he’s never seen them before.  
  
''Dude, Rob. It's  _me_. Why... Why can't you talk to me? I thought I was your best friend! You shared your identity with me and everything, man'' Wally looks at him pleadingly. ''I just want to help you.''  
  
Dick puts his face in his hands and groans.  
  
''Why does everyone keep doing that?''  
  
''What?  _Care_?''  
  
''No!'' Dick glares at him and there is something rough about his eyes. ''Why do you all have to treat me like I’m an idiot? I'm not a child, Wally, so just leave it alone!''  
  
Wally's shoulders sag.  
  
''Because you're... Don't you think I can tell after all this time when something's up? Don't think I don't know when something's not right because I _know_ you, Dick. I know when you're bottling up more than you can handle and I just want you to talk to me!''  
  
''There is  _nothing_  to talk about! Okay?! I'm fine! Everything's fine! Just back off already!'' he’s on his feet now, looking ready to fight. ''I can take care of myself!''  
  
''No, you can't!  That’s the _point_ '' Wally doesn’t like that note of desperation in his own voice. ''You used to but... Dick, you're... different. There's just... You're tense and edgy and jumpy and as soon as someone gets within three feet of you, you just tense up and - you won't even let me close the door to a room the size of my kitchen, for crying out loud!''  
  
Dick doesn't answer, only looks at him long and hard and angry. But Wally won't look away, won't back down because his friend  _needs_  him and -- and Wally doesn't care how hard Dick tries to chase him away because Wally won't  _leave_  him. Not again, not ever again.  
  
''I don't... it's like I don't know you anymore, Dick.''  
  
Dick lets out a tired, shaky sigh and rubs a hand across his eyes.   
  
''Wally, what… What do you want me to say?''  
  
''Just tell me what's wrong! Tell me what I can do, tell me... tell me what's  _happening_ , Dick.''

Dick crosses his arms but the rest of his body relaxes. Wally can't be sure, can't be too hopeful because he doesn't want to say the wrong thing or ruin this but, but it's almost like Dick is giving up. Giving _in_ , if only just a fraction.   
  
''I don't know what to tell you, Wally. I mean... I... I mean, maybe I  _am_  a little... tense but... That's just normal, right?'' He looks to Wally for an answer. For some kind of reassurance he’s not going absolutely crazy. ‘'I just need to... sort my thoughts out, that's all.''  
  
Wally knows that isn't even half the truth, nowhere near it but he also knows when not to push him. He's already gotten this far and he's not about to get shoved out now, not when he's so  _close_  to getting in. Wally doesn't know what he can do or even how, he just wants him to stop being afraid to be around him, wants him to relax and trust him again he --- Wally doesn't care right now if Dick never wants to touch his hand again, never wants to give him a high-five or wrestle, he just -- he just wants him back.  
  
''Do you...'' Dick awkwardly looks away then, blushing. ''Do you want to sleep? Here, I mean.''  
  
Wally's mouth hangs open.   
  
''It's -- it's fine if you don't want to!'' Dick adds hurriedly in a pitch that Wally can't help but find kind of adorable. ''I just... just thought maybe... We haven't really hung out in a while and I dunno... There's this old B-horror flic on tonight and we could watch it and maybe make some popcorn and uh, just...''  
  
''I thought daddy-Bats didn't like me staying over''  
  
Dick looks at him now and Wally's not sure but it almost looks like he's about to grin.  
  
''The big bad Bat is away on a business thing - Wayne Tech business, I mean - so you don't have to worry.''  
  
''I dunno, man’’ Wally casts a suspicious look around the room. ‘’He’s got eyes and ears everywhere''  
  
''Nah’’ Dick shakes his head, definitely grinning now. ‘’I won't let him’’

‘’Promise?’’

Wally can't help but smile.

‘’Promise.''

 

* * *

 

 

The movie isn't particularly good. Of course, he hadn't expected much from something titled  _The Horrific Brain Eaters from Planet Death_. It doesn't really matter, anyway; Wally isn't paying it much attention. 

Trying to fit too many mouthfuls of popcorn into his mouth at once, the snacks are gone and refilled every other minute. Normally Alfred would have been annoyed, he always prefers it if Dick told him far, far in advance when the West boy stayed over so that he could stock up on food, lest Wally eat them out of the house. But today he doesn't mind and, like any good butler, serves the boys in silence.   
  
It’s been a bit tense between the older man and Dick the morning after his attack in the kitchen, but Alfred said nothing of it and eventually Dick could look him in the eyes again. Alfred knows when not to prod, something Dick has always been grateful for.

  
Dick's mind keeps slipping in and out of awareness. Whether Wally notices or not, he can’t really tell. The movie is mind-numbingly bad in its own right, but worse than that were the thoughts. Thoughts that, as always, are reluctant to leave him be. He has his back pressed deep into the backrest and is near buried in blankets, but every time his eyes seemed to get that distant, far off look Wally watches him from out of the corner of his eye.  
  
''Dude. Creepy much?''  
  
Of course, Dick catches him. Nothing ever seems to escape the Boy Wonder. Wally looks away while a blush burns his face.  
  
''Sorry.''  
  
Dick watches him suspiciously for a bit before returning his eyes to the screen.  
  
They watches the rest of it in silence, though a comfortable one. For the first time in weeks Wally feels at ease. Even if they’re not criticizing the movie or mocking the actors like they usually would, he feels close to something that almost looks like normalcy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Wally doesn't mind that he has to sleep on a cot. It's what he always does, anyway. He's just glad he's out of the guest room.

There’s never much sleeping done whenever he’s there. Dick eventually dozes off, leaving Wally alone to stare at the ceiling for hours, thinking about all sorts of things he usually doesn’t have time to. He'll watch the back of his friend as it rises and falls with his breaths, wondering what Dick is dreaming about. Yeah, it makes him feel like a creep but... who would know, anyway?   
  
Except this time Dick doesn't turn his back to him. Though he isn't staring at him like a ghost through the dark either, like Wally first thought he would. He _is_ staring, but at the ceiling, still on his back with his arms tightly held across his chest, hugging the covers close to him with a gaze so intense it looks like he's trying to develop heat vision. His breathing is even but not the one of a sleeping person and instead it's Wally who turns his back and gives him privacy.

  
Normally he'd fantasize about crawling into the bed. Not doing anything in particular, he just likes to imagine the two sleeping next to each other. Imagine the smell of his hair and the warmth of his body as Dick fidgets around in his sleep. Usually it hurts, in a strange way that Wally has had a hard time - still does, sometimes - accepting. When he first realized what those feelings meant he thought he was going to have a panic attack. He had been unable to meet the boy's eyes for days and days until Dick finally took him aside and asked why he was so angry with him.  
  
Wally had just laughed weirdly. Angry? Wally had been anything but angry. Well, maybe at himself, for having these stupid feelings, for acting like a little fanboy with a crush. For having these feelings for his  _best friend_  of all people. Even worse, what if Robin knows? What if he can see it in his face? What if he can  _hear_  the things Wally thinks sometimes?   
  
In hindsight he can laugh at himself and his paranoia, though at the time his fears had seemed rational. What if Robin finds out and never wanted to be around him again? Stupid. Dick wouldn't mind if he was gay. Not that Wally _knows_ what the hell he is. He hasn't reached a satisfying conclusion about that, really. It all seems so pointless to think about now.

 

He would lie if he said that he isn't disappointed. That he isn't sad that Dick probably will want less to do with him now. If the boy can't even shake hands with him, how would they ever get to doing anything else? Forget about kissing and all that, Wally would be content just sleeping next to him. They don't even need to touch each other, just... Wally just wants to be close to him. In any capacity.   
  
But tonight he isn't angry or sad or disappointed about sleeping on the cot. Tonight he's happy he's even let inside the room.   
  
He listens intently for a long, long while. For sounds of nightmares, signs of turmoil but the more he concentrates the more tired he gets. Wally doesn't want to fall asleep because what if something happens -- what if the bad guys escape from jail, what if they come to seek revenge, what if they come in and  _take him again_  and Wally isn't awake, Wally doesn't notice -- what if something happens? He knows the mansion is very secure, knows they have to get through Alfred, knows Batman won't let it happen again but, despite knowing in his gut that he's being irrational Wally can't stop the ever growing feeling of dread.  
  
''Dick?'' he whispers through the room

  
''Wally?'' A quiet voice says. He sounds tired and a little bit annoyed.  
  
''Were you sleeping?''  
  
There is a pause before he answers.  
  
''No.''  
  
''Alright. Just checking.''  
  
Dick doesn't answer, but Wally can feel the strange look he's getting. He decides to ignore it and instead close his eyes, trying to will his mind into silence and sleep, even though he doesn't feel any calmer than he did moments ago.  
  
''Hey, Wally?'' Dick says after a while.  
  
''Huh?'' Wally turns around to face him.  
  
Dick hesitates a second, then sighs heavily.  
  
''Thanks.''  
  
''No problemo!'' Wally frowns. ''Uhm, for what, exactly?''  
  
''Just...'' Dick doesn't even really know. He just feels like he needs to thank him, needs him to know that he appreciates him and how much he really  _means_  to him, but Dick doesn't have any idea of how to express it. ''You know.''  
  
''Not really, no. But uh... you're welcome?''  
  
Dick looks at him now. His face is barely visible in the dark and even with the slight crack in the curtains, the light is too dim for Wally to see what his face looks like.

   
''I just... I know it's not... easy. And uh...'' Dick scratches his nose, his hand slim and ghostly in the blue light from outside. ''I had fun tonight.''  
  
Wally smiles at him, even if the boy can't really see it in the dark.  
  
''Me too. Even if it was a  _terrible_  movie''  
  
''You're welcome to choose next time.''  
  
''Next time?'' Wally can't really help the high-pitched tone of his voice and immediately wants to hide under his covers because he can't believe how embarrassingly excited he joust sounded.   
  
''Well, duh. You thought I wasn't…'' then Dick goes very, very quiet.

Wally waits for him to continue speaking but Dick doesn't say a word and after a moment he thinks he hears the boy turn to his back again. Wally realizes what a stupid idiot he is because Dick probably took it the wrong way; probably thought it meant he never wants to come over again and Wally wants to slap himself. He wants to say something but isn't sure what because it all sounds so stupid in his head, he can't imagine it being any better out loud.  
  
''You don't laugh anymore.'' Wally says the first thing that comes to mind and, as usual, it proves to be a bad idea.   
  
Dick shifts slightly, tensing maybe, and Wally doesn't want to just slap himself anymore: he wants to go out into the backyard and shoot himself.   
  
''You really don't know, do you?'' Dick's voice is hushed, almost too much to hear.  


''Know what?''  
  
Silence.  
  
''Nothing.''  
  
''No, dude, know what?''  
  
''Nothing, Wally. Just --'' Dick sighs shakily. ''Nothing.''  
  
It hurts. It always hurts to be shut out. It’s _infuriating_ , but his anger is so useless it only leaves him feeling drained.  
  
''Dude, you can trust me. You know that, right?''  
  
''I know, Wally''  
  
''So why won’t you?''  
  
Dick sits up hastily, gripping the covers in anger.  
  
''It's not that easy!'' Dick hisses. ''I -- I can't just--''  
  
''What? Talk to me? Dude, you always... You've always talked to me. Why is now any different?''  
  
''Because it just is, Wally! It's different and I can't talk to you right now because --'' Dick rubs his hand across his face and groans.   
  
''Becaaaause..?''  
  
Because Dick doesn't want him to know, because he's afraid of what he will think if he ever does, because Dick isn't ready for  _anyone_  to know. It's bad enough that Bruce does, and probably the rest of the League or, at least the ones who were  _there_  and he has no idea how to deal with that. Dick doesn't want, doesn’t think he can cope, if Wally looks at him like they do.   
  
''It doesn't matter'' he says and the strain in his voice is rough against Wally's ears. ''Forget it.''  
  
Wally wants to protest, wants to tell him that he can't forget, that he knows there's something he isn't being told, something he isn't being trusted with but he doesn't even have the time because Dick is up and out of the room before he even opens his mouth. Wally sits in shame, in guilt, for many long minutes after the door is shut. He wants to go after him but it feels wrong to chase him when he's already upset. Wally is so  _stupid_  because they were having a good time, everything was good and familiar and then he had to open his idiot mouth and  _ruin_  it-.

Wally lies down and tries to sleep, tries not to think about if Dick just changed rooms or never wants to talk to him or wherever he could be. Tries not to think of him heading to the gym to work off some stress or if he's in the kitchen -- with a grumble Wally's stomach reminds him of how hungry he is and it's been at least two hours since he ate -- or pacing around the corridors. But of course he can't sleep because his mind is relentless and the tiredness he’d felt before is gone. It's driving Wally  _insane_ to have to lie there and listen to his own thoughts.  
  
Eventually he has enough and gets up to go look for him. 

The floor is cold but Wally doesn't take the time to put his socks on, just gets out of the bed and walks out. He would prefer to use his speed because Dick could be anywhere in the building and it's going to take  _forever_  to locate him and Wally will probably get lost and starve to death before morning but, it is dark and running into walls hurts. So he tries his best to be calm and walk like a normal person, though he can't help but be just a little too fast.   
  
The mansion is silent and expecting. The way the many portraits watch him from the walls, it almost feels like they're judging him. Some of the corridors are lit up by giant windows, but most of the mansion is dark and looming. He listens intently for sounds, for movements but after the twentieth room he still hasn't found anything. There is nothing coming from the kitchen and it seems even Alfred is asleep. Wally has no idea what time it is but he's pretty sure it's too early for him to have gotten up.  
  
After what feels like hours but has only been twenty minutes he passes one of many bathroom doors and he almost walks right by it when he hears it. Wally's heart stops in his chest and for a second he forgets to breathe. He looks at the door in what can only be described as fear and suddenly regrets ever leaving the bedroom at all.   
  
Wally doesn't know if he should even knock anymore, doesn't know if he should bother the boy because suddenly it feels so very private and like he doesn't  _belong_  there. Like he should just go back to bed and pretend he never noticed anything because this is the first time Wally's ever heard Dick cry.

 

* * *

 

The water is hot against his skin and though it's drying it out, despite that his face has started flaking from the excessive usage he can't stop it. The filth is thick and heavy and Dick just wants to crawl out of his skin, wants to take it off and step out. The dirt is in his pores and in his very marrow. It’s _heavy_ , weighing him down and making it hard to breathe.

 

Dick twists the shower handle but the water isn't hot enough. He wants it to boil, wants it to burn right through him but it won't go any higher - never goes any higher but every inch of his body is  _itching_  and he just wants it to stop.  
  
He grabs the loofa which is course and rough and presses hard against his arm. It burns where the skin rips and the water isn't helping - but it takes his mind off it, takes his mind off the  _images_  and he presses harder and harder even though he's close to bleeding. It just won't clean, it won't clean him like he needs it to but he doesn't know what else to do, he --   
  
can feel the steel against his skin as if it was happening that very moment, can feel the hands squeezing at his wounds, digging in the flesh and he can feel it all and it's so real, it's so close to him he can  _smell_  the blood. So he scrubs harder and harder still, despite the water around his feet blending with red until it becomes an ugly, dirty brown.

  
He pours the soap into his hands and only hesitates for a moment before he smears it on his arm. It stings so much he can't stand straight, has to steady himself against the wall and the rock in his chest is  _choking him_. Dick can't breathe, can't see but at least he can't  _think_  and it's all that matters right now. He can feel the sting in his eyes and supposes he is crying - but just like all the other nights he can't tell the emotions apart anymore. Everything is just a mess of anger and shame and regret and fear - so much fear he doesn't know where to go or what to even do with himself, anymore -- and then the water turns ice cold.  
  
Dick curls into a ball on the floor, hugging himself tightly as he tries hard not to scream but it's so difficult because the water is cold and it hurts and it never gets this  _cold_  - he can't remember if he showered earlier today, there should be warm water left but Dick can't focus -- his vision is spotted in black and everything is spinning. He only barely stops himself from vomiting for what feels like the millionth time. His throat has been sore for days, his breath has been awful but the bile keeps pushing and pushing like it's  _angry_  with him and the sudden wave of nausea leaves him too numb to move.  
  
Dick lets a quiet sob out and buries his head in his knees. A strong, cold wave of disappointment fills his chest. And Wally is over and he probably thinks Dick is angry with him, but Dick isn't angry with anyone, just himself because he's so weak and small and pathetic.

 

His head and feet start hurting from the cold and his joints are stiff when he finally stands up. His hand is trembling so hard it takes him a minute to open the shower door. On shaking legs he steps out of the shower, dries himself off and slips into his clothes. The tears feel like acid against his cold skin, but he can’t make them stop. He leans against the basin for support, stares into the drain and watches the water drip from his hair before they disappear down the drain.

 

Slowly Dick lifts his head to meet his reflection, not really wanting to but feeling like he needs to see himself - feels like he needs to punish himself for reasons he doesn’t even know. The bile that had been retreating returns full force at the sight of his face and it takes everything he has not to heave up the popcorn he ate earlier.  
  
He only faintly, dimly hears the knock on the door and the panic instantly rises. He bites down his teeth, tries to calm his breathing because he knows he's home, he's home and he's safe and it can't be anything dangerous but his heart won't slow down, only go faster and faster until he fears it may break through his ribs.  
  
''Dick?''  
  
The voice is familiar but he doesn't know if it's of the good or the bad kind, can't tell if it's someone who wants to hurt him so Dick doesn't answer, just tries to turn away from the it; tries to push himself as closely against the basin cabinet as he can and disappear.  
  
''Dick, are you... are you alright?'' Dick keeps ignoring him. ''Can... can I come in?''  
  
'' _Go away!_ '' Dick shouts and he doesn't even care that he can't keep his voice steady, he doesn't want anyone to be there because it's a tiny little room and it would be so easy for someone to just push him against the wall and -- nononono _nononnono **no**_.   
  
''Come on, it's just  _me_ , Dick. It's just... just me.''  
  
Dick takes three deep breaths. Then two and five and a thousand more until the room stops spinning. There are no sounds of footsteps which probably means that Wally is still there. Dick is starting to feel tired; his knees shake and tremble under the weight of his body and for a moment he just wants to collapse.  
  
But then he feels Wally's smell, hears the familiar sound of his steps - that special, impatient, hurried Wally-walking-rhythm which seems... hesitant, this time.

  
''Dude, are you..?''  
  
Dick turns his face away, not because of the tears, he doesn't even care about the stupid tears right now, he just can't let Wally  _see_ him like this.  
  
''C'mon, man,  _look at me_. I won't make fun of you, I swear.''  
  
Dick takes a deep, shaky breath but still doesn't move.  
  
''Please, Wally, just go'' he croaks and it sounds so pathetic he can't believe it’s his real voice.

  
''Let me  _help you_ , man.''

  
Dick doesn't reply, doesn't look at him but instead turns his eyes to the mirror. In the corner of his eye he registers the bright color of Wally's pajamas.   
  
''Look, I'll stand here by the doorway, okay? My hands up where you can see them. Now  _please_ '' Wally says ''please, just look at me, Dick.''  
  
Dick stares at the mirror as if in a trance. Reaches an unsteady hand tentatively to his face and touches it, barely, like he doesn't really want to feel the skin under his fingertips but can't stop himself entirely. Wally watches him in silence and, though the tears have stopped, Dick's eyes are cold and frantic.  
  
''I can't go back'' Dick's quiet voice startles him.  
  
''Can't go back where?''

Dick presses his fingers harder now, to really feel the texture of his face as he sweeps his hand across.   
  
''Not like... not like this.''  
  
Wally's getting anxious there is a detached coldness about his voice, like he’s somewhere else entirely. Looking at something far beyond the mirror, far beyond himself.  
  
Dick slowly takes his hand down and lets it travel under the t-shirt, and as he draws the fingers briefly across his stomach he loses all strength in his legs. Wally's first reaction is to run over to him, but in the last second he stops himself. Dick keeps his hand on his belly, keeps feeling and poking at the skin and the panic rises high and loud within him.  
  
''Talk to me, man'' Wally says and crouches down in the doorway. ''What's going on? What's wrong?''  
  
Dick just shakes his head.  
  
''Don't be like that'' he says and he sounds angry, which confuses Wally because he doesn't know what he could have possibly done.  
  
''Like what?''  
  
Dick snaps his head to face him with eyes that are hard and cold and rough and hurtful.  
  
''Look at my face, Wally! Look at my  _face_!''  
  
''Dick, there's nothing --''  
  
''I can't go back to being Robin because look at me! Don't you think they'll see Dick Grayson and immediately recognize something like this?''  
  
''I don't -- Dick, what are you talking about? There's nothing with your face, you're -- ''  
  
''I can  _feel_  it , Wally, I can feel the marks on my skin!'' Dick pulls his hand out from the shirt so fast only Wally would notice and buries his face in his hands. ''I can't go back, can't go back like this, they'll see and they'll know and --''

 

He doesn't ever want to go near a scalpel ever again so he can't even get reconstructive surgery, he's trapped as Dick Grayson forever.  
  
''It's over'' Dick lets out a tiny little sob. Wally has to fight hard not to crawl over. ''It's over, I'm over.  _Robin's over._ ''  
  
‘’ _Look at me,_  man. There  _are no scars_.''  
  
''Shut up, shut up, Wally --''  
  
''Dick, you're freaking me out''  
  
The younger boy looks at him then, glances through his fingers with his eyes riddled in shame.  
  
''But I can feel them'' he says and it's so narrow, so shallow and thin it barely passes as a voice. ''I can  _feel them_ , Wally.''  
  
Wally just sighs.  
  
''You're stressed, you're... traumatized, Dick, it's just... you're just imagining it. You know they said -- they said you  _wouldn't_  scar, right?''  
  
Dick leans his head back against the cabinet.  
  
''Not a mark'' he says, distantly.   
  
''Exactly'' Wally nods. ''You -- there is nothing on your face, okay? You... I mean, you see it, right? Tell me you see it.''  
  
Dick doesn't answer, just lets his fingers trace along his stomach again. Wally doesn't know what to think or to believe; doesn't know what to do because everything is just so wrong.

  
The two don't speak after that. There's really nothing left to say. Wally sits and waits, lets him know he's there but keeps his distance. Eventually, Wally can’t fight himself anymore and falls asleep, leaning against the door frame.

 

Dick just keeps staring at the wall. 


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild trigger warning for attempted rape of un-named OC

''Would you please stop breathing down my neck?'' Red Arrow spits out the words through teeth clenched in anger. ''This is getting ridiculous.''  
  
Green Arrow gives a nervous laugh and pulls at his beard, a habit always surfacing during moments of great embarrassment. Roy Harper just rolls his eyes and hopes the man can hear the irritation in his sigh.  
  
''Roy, don't be like that''  
  
''I'm not your little worker boy, anymore.''  
  
''I know, I know.''  
  
''So stop  _treating_  me like one''  
  
Roy doesn't raise his voice, but he doesn't have to. The anger and frustration is clear in his body language and Green Arrow almost considers walking away. Almost.  
  
''You've gotta see where I'm coming from here, kid'' Green Arrow sighs. ''I'm just ... tense. We all are. Heck, you should see the way Zatara acts around --''  
  
''Oh, give me a break!'' Roy whips around to glare at him so hard it burns. ''What... happened to Robin is... unfortunate but it's not like there's some kind of secret society out to hurt protégés. And I'm  _not_  your protégé anymore so just back off.''  
  
Green Arrow sighs and puts his hands on his hips. Roy turns around and continues to peek out over the street below. The city is never still, never quiet and he has a strange feeling about the night. The pollution feels sticky against his lungs but Roy doesn't have time to feel squeamish; as long as the city isn't safe, as long as he has a job to do, he has to keep focused. It would be a lot easier if he didn't have a grown man following him around like a tail, but he supposes you can’t have everything.  
  
It's bad enough how tense it is between them during normal circumstances, tonight even Ollie’s _breathing_ is getting on his nerves. Roy is tense, anticipating and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't more on guard than usual and having Green Arrow look him over the shoulder constantly isn't exactly helping.  
  
''If you want to be out on patrol with me you better keep  _quiet_.''  
  
Green Arrow chuckles.  
  
''Oh, I'm on patrol with  _you_ , huh?''  
  
Roy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. It takes most of his self-control not to tie Oliver up and leave him there.  
  
''Hey, when Dinah heard you were heading out to Gotham, especially after what's happened... she wouldn't let me go without keeping an eye on you.''  
  
''Well, I wouldn't want your girlfriend to get mad at you'' the sarcasm is obvious but Ollie has learned to deal with it. If he couldn't laugh at half the things Red Arrow did he'd be insane by now. ''Why are you in Gotham, anyway? I thought Superman was handling it while Batman's away on business.''  
  
Green Arrow shrugs to himself.  
  
''What the Bat doesn't know can't hurt ya''  
  
''Oh, he knows.'' Roy glances at him thinly. ''At least he will.''  
  
''You going to tell on me?'' Oliver puts a hand on his chest. ''I'm hurt.''  
  
Roy ignores him. Even if he wanted to he wouldn't have time to reply as gunshots ring loudly from a nearby alley.  
  
''Let's go!'' Green Arrow says before leaping off into the night.  
  
Roy only barely holds back his irritated remark before following.

   
It takes them less than a minute to reach the scene of the crime. Underneath them two men are surrounding a woman; she's gripping her purse tightly to her chest, crying and shaking as she tries to plead for her life.  
  
''Please, I don't have any money! I - I just got off from night school and --''  
  
''Oh, booohooo'' the man with the gun says as he waves it at her. ''C'mon, girlie. Lessee what's in'ere.''  
  
The other man grips her purse violently, but he hasn't so much as opened it before a blunt arrow knocks him off his feet.  
  
''What the -- '' the other man is soon on the ground with him, his mouth bleeding horribly. ''Sonnuva bitch broke my tooth!''  
  
The two vigilantes jump into the alley; Roy lands on a dumpster and Oliver just beside the woman. His face is hard as he raises his bow.  
  
''Now, now’’ Green Arrow says. ‘’Are you going to stay down or do I have to make you?''  
  
The man who previously held the gun laughs.  
  
''Where's the Bat, eh? Too busy to play with us?'' his laugh gets louder as he turns to his comrade. ''Look, man, they sent Robin Hood and Little John to take care of us, you believe it?''

 The other robber laughs as well, though it is more of a snicker as his face has started to swell. Roy sighs.  
  
''Less talking, more intercepting''  
  
Oliver nods and in unison they grab and fire off two net arrows. The robbers are pressed to the ground as the weights of the net press downwards, their shouts echoing between the walls. The woman is sobbing through quick breaths, on her knees as the fear has overpowered her. She gives a mascara-stained look to the archers, and with shaking lips she mouths the words  _Thank you_.  
  
Green Arrow picks up her purse and hands it to her before he reaches out a hand. She’s shaking so hard he has to let her lean against him. He gives Roy a look.  
  
''I've got this, Spe-- Red Arrow. You can head on, I'll catch up.''  
  
Roy doesn't bother thanking him before he's off again. Ollie knows the real reason he's in Gotham, but hasn't said a word about it.  And he won’t.

  
Roy is the only one of the protégés who hasn't yet visited Robin. He hasn't had the time, is what he's been telling himself. But that's not the truth, at least, not the entirety of it.  
  
He's not even sure why he would visit. There is nothing he can do to help him, nothing useful can come out of a visit spent to him but Roy can't help but feel like he should. Like he has some sort of obligation and it goes much further than duty, further than what's right. It's a matter of family and, though he hasn't been on the team's good side a lot and hasn't really spent a lot of time with them, he's worried.  
  
The other mentors have been worried too. Hell, the entire hero community is on edge; the brief encounters he's had with them has told him so. He can see it in the way they clench their jaws, the way they take an extra glance around when parting with their protégés, the way they tense up when the word of a solo mission comes up.   
  
As much as it tires him, he supposes he can't really blame them this time. The thing that always irked him the most was how they were all being babied, pushed around and never  _trusted_  - and it's so much worse now when something like this has happened.  
  
Robin was the first partner, and to see someone get him, it’s bound to set off some ripples. Roy knows and he can, somewhat, understand. But it still angers him when they can't trust each other, can't trust their own partners because what stable foundation can be built on all that fear? On all the paranoia? Red Arrow's supposed to be a solo act, yet Dinah and Ollie can't trust him to do what he does and get home afterwards. The babying was bad before, but it's suffocating now.  
  
It's not until a while later when he sees it. The fluttering of a black and yellow cape, the red blur of his chest as the swings through the air. Roy is taken aback with surprise at first; Robin’s supposed to be off duty. Not permanently, they said, but for a while at the very least. Roy expected him to be at the mansion, not out on patrol - especially with Superman on the job for the moment.   
  
A smirk pulls at the archer's lips as Robin lands on a rooftop. Of course the boy would sneak out when Batman isn't home. And it feels good because it's familiar, something expected. Robin is acting like Robin and Roy starts to wonder if maybe everyone has been exaggerating.  
  
He hurries over to the rooftop before the boy has a chance to move away. It's hard and he's slightly breathless as he finally manages to get over there, and when Robin sees him he looks more than a little surprised.  
  
''Red?'' he raises his eyebrows. ''Kinda far away from Star City right now, aren’t ya?''

''Robin''  
  
''What's up?''  
  
He looks normal. He almost sounds normal yet there is something about his voice that Roy can't decipher. Something hidden and heavy that makes his skin crawl. But Roy composes himself and tries to look nonchalant, like it was any other night.  
  
''I could ask you the same.''  
  
Robin makes a face. When it's clear he won't answer, Roy decides to change the subject.  
  
''So how long are you benched for?''  
  
Robin makes an irritated huff and crosses his arms, looking at something far away.

  
''Dunno'' He says slowly, like it hurts to speak. '''Til Batman says I'm ready.''  
  
''Sneaking out for patrol even though Bats says no?'' Roy snorts. ''That's bold.''  
  
''What do you  _want_?''  
  
The snap in his voice is unexpected and -- strange, Roy can't remember Robin ever being so irritable. The boy's shoulders are tense and from out of nowhere a line emerges between his brows.

  
''Are you...'' Okay? Fine? Why is it that the only thing he can think of is a stupid question? Of course he isn't fine, how could he be? Maybe because he's Robin, the Boy Wonder and he never, ever loses it. Robin’s always seemed unbreakable. ‘' _How_  are you?''  
  
Robin looks at him as if he doesn't understand the question.  
  
''I'm... fine? How are  _you_ , ma’am?''  
  
Roy cocks a brow.  
  
''Seriously?''  
  
''Seriously, stop being...’’ He makes a vague gesture. ‘’...weird.''  
  
Roy sighs and pulls a hand through his hair. He hadn't expected it to be easy, but never had the thought it'd be this awkward. He and Robin have never really had any trouble talking - well, Roy never did much to sustain their conversations but Robin never needed that. He can hold up five conversations on his own and Roy doesn't even have to listen.  
  
''Yeah, well.'' Roy grumbles quietly. '' _This_  is weird. I... ''  
  
''Yooouu..?''  
  
Roy looks at him, and his face is flat and serious. Robin is starting to feel a little antsy, but tries to ignore it to the best of his abilities. He hasn't seen Roy in a while and, as disagreeable as the other can be, he's missed him. Slightly. Roy, despite how mean they all were to him the first time they met him, and how distrustful they kept being - over time, Roy became something like an older brother. The only person Robin thought would act  _normal_  around him and when the archer fails in doing so, Robin can’t help but resent him.

  
''You know where to find me, right?''  
  
Robin looks at him strangely.  
  
''Uhm... sure. Unless you moved.''  
  
They stare at each other in uncomfortable silence. Something about this whole thing is bothering him, Robin can’t really put his finger on why, but it’s there. Nagging just behind his teeth.

 

''Why'd you come here, tonight? And don't tell me for patrol. Superman is handling Gotham and I don't recall Batman asking for Arrow assistance''  
  
Roy crosses his arms.  
  
''I can't come to Gotham if I feel like it?''  
  
''Well, you could, but Batman'll kill you. Unless you're here to spy on Artemis, why would you?''  
  
''I'm not here for  _her_.'' Roy takes a step closer and watches the other immediately take a step back. And that's when it hits him - hard. ''It's... true, then.'' he says, dejectedly, and Robin doesn't want to talk to him anymore.  
  
''Look, I'm  _fine_.''  
  
''You don't look fine.''  
  
''Gee, thanks.''  
  
Roy rolls his eyes.  
  
''You know what I mean.''  
  
''Yeah. I do.'' then Robin turns to his right and with no explanation, heads for the edge of the roof.  
  
''Where are you going? Hey! Robin! I'm not done with you!''

Roy leaps after him as Robin grabs his grappling hook and, just as he's about to launch off, Roy's hand reaches the end of his cape and tugs him backwards. Robin is thrown backwards towards the roof and is just about to hit his head, when by instinct his hands push against the stone and throws him off into a double flip.

  
Roy whips around in barely concealed surprise - he hadn't expected to tug that hard. Robin stalks over to him, steps wide and hard, to push the other in the chest.  
  
''What the hell was that?!''  
  
Roy regains his balance quickly, a growing rage spreading through him. No, _fury_.   
  
''Don't run away from me when I'm trying to talk to you!''  
  
''Maybe I don't want to talk to you, did you think of that?''  
  
Roy steps closer to him with hands balled into fists and his chest rising quickly with each sharp breath.  
  
''Too bad, because you're going to talk to me whether you want to or not! Now shut up and  _listen_!''  
  
''You shut up! You're not my babysitter!''  
  
''Apparently someone needs be!''  
  
''What's that supposed to mean?!''  
  
''It means you're acting like a baby!''  
  
Dick's eyes widen and Roy barely has time to duck the punch. When Robin doesn't land a hit, he instead aims a kick, but Roy is quick to grab his leg and flip him over. The sky vibrates before him like someone had shaken it. The roof is cold against his back and it takes a while for him to suck the breath back into his body. Roy looks down at him like he’s just seen a magic trick.  
  
'' _Wow_ , you're off your game.''  
  
As soon as he can see straight, Dick glares back at him.  
  
''Shut up.''  
  
The archer reaches out a hand to help him up, but Robin slaps it away and manages to pull himself up. He tenderly rubs his back, never letting Roy go with his glare. While he brushes himself off Roy feels his previous aggression slowly drain, leaving behind only a trace amount of annoyance. No one speaks for a while, and Robin never lets him go - watching, tensely and nervously, as if he's waiting for Roy to lash out at him again and for a small while the archer feels a pang of guilt. But he pushes it away as soon as it comes and regains posture.  
  
''Robin...'' he says, but the words are caught in his throat. He still has no idea what to say and it irritates him. Because he feels like he needs to, like he's supposed to say something wise and helpful but he just can't find the words within him.

 

''Don't'' Robin shakes his head. ''Don't do that. Don't  _pity_  me.''  
  
''Oh, believe me, Boy Blunder, I'm not pitying you.''  
  
Robin huffs.  
  
''Look'' Roy raises his hands in some kind of peace gesture. ''I don't know more than what Green Arrow told me and I don't trust him to remember the daily special. All I know is that something did happen and... it's gotten everyone on edge.''  
  
''Yeah, kinda noticed.''  
  
Roy glares at him.  
  
''Look, Robin. I know them. They're just worried. In their own incompetent way.''  
  
Robin looks away, down at the ground as his brow furrows deeper. His mouth is a straight, taut line and his fists clench and unclench in agitation.  
  
''Roy, it's fine'' he says, but his voice doesn't sound fine. '' _I'm_ fine, and I thought you'd be the last one to treat me like I'm some big problem everyone has to fix. But I guess I was wrong.''  
  
''They're not treating you like a problem, they're treating you like a person  _with_  a problem. As clumsy as it is, they're trying to help. They think they're doing the right thing.'' Roy is close to snarling now, tries not to lash out because he knows Robin will bolt.  ''Robin, I know what they're like. I understand th--''  
  
''No, you  _don't_  understand! No one seems to understand anything, because you're all still harassing me about this! How many times do I have to tell you I'm fine until you freakin' listen?!''  
  
''When we know you're telling the truth!''  
  
Robin opens his mouth to protest, but his words die before they even reach his tongue. Instead he sighs, shakes his head and sighs again.   
  
''This is pointless. I'm going.''  
  
Roy looks after him but doesn't follow; he sees no point to it.   
  
''You can't run from this forever, Robin. It's going to catch up to you, and when it does...''  
  
Robin doesn't stay for the rest of his sentence, just launches the grapple and flies off within a blink. Roy watches him go with ice in his gut.  
  
''You know where I am.''

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It is near dawn and Superman knows he should head back home to Metropolis, it's hard keeping an eye on two cities at once but Lois and Jimmy have promised to contact him in case his presence is really needed. Batman won't be home for another day, so it's not a long stray for the Kryptonian but he knows he shouldn’t linger. There's just something he has to do - someone he has to see - before he goes home.  
  
Clark's been watching the boy through the night; he hasn't said anything about the sneaking out, hasn't made his presence known. His first impulse was to confront the boy, ask him what the hell he was doing out in the night, on his own nonetheless. Didn't he know he could get hurt? Didn't he know there could be people out there, bad people who would to harm him?   
  
But Clark comes to his senses before he has time to descend; of course the boy knows. He’s been doing the gig since he was _nine_ and before that he had been part of a circus, traveled his fair share and Clark knows very well that Dick’s capable enough to take care of himself. Despite this it’s hard to silence the worry, though he tries with all his might to squeeze it into a corner of his mind where it can’t be heard.  
  
He knows Dick needs this, knows the boy has to move, has to act, has to feel useful or else he’ll be eaten alive by his thoughts. There is no doubt in Clark's mind that Dick's head is crowded, filled to the brim with thoughts and for the moment, Clark knows that the best thing is not to lock him inside.

So instead he keeps an eye on him between the crimes. He wants to talk to him, but he doesn't really know what to say. For being a reporter, his vocabulary runs pathetically short whenever it comes to this and, worse than that, he’s not sure that he should. Would Robin even want to see him? Could he look him in the eyes after what happened? Clark can’t forget, sees it every time he goes to sleep or has a moment to think.  
  
There are so many things he wants to know, wants the boy to know but there is something blocking his words and Clark decides that when given the choice to say something stupid and to say nothing, he chooses the latter.

 

He has met victims of - of -  _assault_ , before, but it's never been this personal. Of course he cares about them, like he cares about all the victims; but they’re just strangers to him, never friends or acquaintances and certainly not family.  
  
''Help me! Please, dear god, anyone -- _help_ me!''  
  
The voice hits his ears loud as a gunshot and it's within seconds that he cuts through the sky and towards the source of the scream. His mind is still buzzing and busy but when he sees the woman crying, shaking, kicking - everything is put on pause.  
  
''Don't  _touch_  her!'' Clark screams as he flies into the man towering above her, his jeans down and his hands underneath her skirt.

 

The two crash into a clothing line and tumble to the ground; he can hear the man scream as a bone breaks but Clark doesn't care. He hits him hard and fast and it's almost -- almost too much, because Clark can't control himself, can't control his  _anger_  and had he been clear in his head he would have felt his own fear; and it would be depowering because he is so rarely afraid of anything.

 

But Clark doesn't think, doesn't do much at all but hit and throw and damage and it's not until the man starts praying that he realizes what he's doing.  
  
''Superman!'' the voice cuts through his mind like a razor, bringing him back into the real word and it is with shaking hands Clark let's Diana pull him away. ''Enough!''  
  
Clark is panting so fast his lungs can't keep up. With wide and disorganized eyes that he meets Diana's gaze. She gives him a short, chastising glare before she flies over to the would-be rapist.  
  
''He's alive'' she says after checking him, still conscious but frightened and lost in the sudden rush of adrenaline and pain. ''Despite your best efforts''  
  
Clark breathes heavily and clenches his fists, tries to will them into stillness. The woman on the ground is still crying, screaming and it is with the most care and nurture that Diana approaches her.  
  
''You are alright'' she murmurs softly. ''He won't hurt you''  
  
The woman shakes her head and grabs onto Diana's hand - tightly clutching it like it is the only thing to keep her afloat.  
  
''I- I was s-so, so scared, I --''  
  
''I know, I know. It's alright now. Do you want me to take you somewhere? Do you want to go to the hospital?''  
  
The woman nods but can't speak anymore as the sobs have become too violent. Diana gives Clark a pointed look over her shoulder as she helps the woman up.  
  
''You and I are not done.'' she says and the two women lift from the ground. ''Take the other one and follow me.''  
  
Clark watches her leave, his heart still thumping uncontrollably and he has not the courage to look her in the eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

  
''Speak''  
  
Clark fidgets under her hard, blue stare. The cape feels tight around his neck.  
  
''I...'' Clark sighs. ''I lost control.''  
  
''Again. Clark, you can't go on like this. You're being a danger -- ''  
  
''I know, Diana!'' his voice rises suddenly and unexpectedly, but the woman does not flinch. Clark bows his head and looks away, far off in the distance to the beckoning gleam of the skyscrapers. ''I know.''  
  
The air is cold up where they are, too close to the clouds to be more than spots against a sky which is becoming more and more orange. Underneath them the streets and roads are filled with so much movement, it is as if the Earth itself is moving, vibrating far below. Diana gives a look to the crowds rushing by, already so many heading off to work, some perhaps home from it. It is a deceitful sight, but for that moment when the sunlight has yet to truly break through the clouds, it all seems so peaceful.  
  
''You should talk to him.'' she says, and she can hear the shift in his muscles.  
  
''What is there to say?''  
  
The corner of her lip curves into half a smile.  
  
''Does it matter?''  
  
''Of course it matters!'' Clark frowns. ''What is there to say that can make anything better? What good could I do now?’'  
  
''You Kryptonians and your thick heads.'' She rolls her eyes. ''Nothing you say can make it better, it's not that  _simple_ , Clark. It'd be wonderful if it was but that's not how it works. You know that.''  
  
''So what am I..?''  
  
''The boy adores you, Clark. Do you think your words are really important?''  
  
Clark's mouth tightens as he looks at her in guilt.  
  
''I don't understand...''  
  
''Support doesn't have to be verbal.'' 

He isn't reassured, isn't rid of his doubt because it still feels so pointless.  _He_  feels pointless and -- and useless because he wants to make it better, he truly does, but there is nothing he can do. He can't erase what happened, can't make the boy forget and his presence just feels imposing now. He is a giant among beings that will too easily break.  
  
''I know you're not the most... tactful person'' Diana says, and Superboy briefly comes to mind. ''But I think there's a point at which one has to do what's necessary, no matter one's fears and doubts.''  
  
Clark glances at her.  
  
''Are you talking about Dick or...?''  
  
''You know very well what I am talking about.''  
  
Clark sighs.  
  
''The boy needs you. He's... We're all afraid, Clark. It's a normal reaction. But Dick has many people who love him and, most of all he has a family. Superboy doesn't have that.''  
  
''He'll be fine, Diana, he wasn't  _there_ , he wasn't --''  
  
Her glare is sharp enough to make him shrink a little.  
  
''The victim is not the only one suffering, Clark.''  
  
''I know, but --''  
  
''So stop making excuses, already.''  
  
''I just... It's... Every time I look at him, I...''

‘’Which one?’’

‘’Both’’ He clenches his jaws.   
  
He is reminded of what can happen, does his power ever get abused. And it's just unnatural - he is a clone, he hasn't been birthed by a mother who loves him and Superboy, unlike a child from love has been created as a weapon, a very potent one at that. And it scares him that something like him can exist. Clark never signed up for parenthood, and suddenly being expected to take all this responsibility is overwhelming him. For all his power, Clark has no real idea of how to  _use_  it; where to go, what to say, how to be, how to help.   
  
Batman, Aquaman, Flash and Green Arrow, they all chose to have apprentices. They all had a choice and they made the decision they felt was right. But Clark doesn't get to make any decisions. He just gets expectations and demands.  
  
It's hard because the entire world relies on him to keep everything going, to keep order in a world so cluttered with chaos it is hard to move at times, to keep them safe, to make it right; and he doesn't want Superboy to add to the pressure - doesn't want him to  _have_  that pressure. It is too much power for one man to have, and with it comes the obligations. It has nearly crushed him at many occasions, and how can someone who's not even a year old be expected to handle it?  


What the hell does he know about kids, anyway?  What if he only makes it worse?

  
''I know how he makes you feel'' Diana says and her hand reaches for his shoulder. Clark lets it rest there, though it is little comfort. ''But they need you. Now more than ever''  
  
They share a look of comfort, of doubt and fear and for a moment the burden feels lighter.  
  
''You're wise, Diana.''  
  
''Thank you.''  
  
''I don't like it.''  
  
She just smiles at him, then pats him on the back.  
  
''Go on, get out of here.''  
  
Clark glides upwards a few feet, then stops and glances down at her, his cape fluttering softly as golden rays cascade down his back. Diana strokes some hair out of her face and looks at him expectantly.  
  
''Why haven't  _you_  visited him?'' he says then, and she gives him a tired look.  
  
''Because he doesn't need me like he needs you’’ 

‘’What’s that supposed to mean?’’

‘’I will, when the time is right. Stop stalling now''  
  
''Alright, alright, I'm going!''  
  
She gives him a thin look before she turns to fly away, but doesn't get very far before Clark stops her again.  
  
''Hey, Diana?''  
  
''Yes, Clark?''  
  
And then he gives her a big, warm Superman smile.  
  
''Thank you.''  
  
''Goodbye, Clark''   
  
She returns the smile, though smaller, then with a little wave she disappears between the clouds.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It's too much. Too much noise, too much movement and he can't  _focus_  long enough to keep his steps even. Dick is constantly watching his back, throwing glances over his shoulder, watching the other students as they swarm around him. No one is paying him any attention, for them it is just a normal day but to Dick it is so much more than that. They are all harmless, he knows he could take them out in a fight but to his anxious mind they are all threats, dangers and attacks waiting to happen and there are just so  _many_  of them.  
  
His spine is crawling, pushing at him, attempting to flee through his throat and take his stomach with it. But Dick tries to calm down, tries to breathe and remember how to keep his mind clear; tries to remember where he is. There is the ever present threat of panic pulling at him, beckoning him away from the real world but Dick knows he can't lose his head now. Maybe, just maybe if he looks and acts the part, with time he will also  _feel_  normal. Maybe if he goes back to his old routines, meets the same old people, does his old homework, wears his old clothes, things will reset and restart from square one.   
  
Maybe if Dick makes it through like nothing ever changed, the shift within him will cease.   
  
But it's clear as day the moment he sets his foot within the doors of Gotham Academy that nothing is ever as simple as it seems. He's sweating so much the shirt is starting to stick to his back and Dick hopes no one notices, hopes no one can tell that he's shaking and nervous and hopes no one sees the color drain from his cheeks. His stance is tense and tight and on edge, his flight or fight response hard at work while Dick prepares to battle; prepares to run and scream and save himself but the danger never comes. It just pretends to.  
  
Someone walks too close, brushes by his elbow, or closes a locker too hard; laughs too loudly, calls out a name that sounds too similar to his and Dick feels the outright panic swell and shrink inside his chest over and over again. Someone is wearing leather boots, he can't see the person but he can smell it all across the long, gigantic hallway and he tries so hard not to curl into fetal position right then and there on the floor.  
  
''Dick?''  
  
He flinches violently at the sound; turns around so fast his fists are already closed -  _thumb goes outside, unless you want to break it_  - and not even when he recognizes the green eyes and the red hair does he relax.  _Keep ready, keep alert. Things are never as they appear._ But it's just Barbara, it's just Babs and Babs is safe, Babs is kind and caring and teasing and mean but she's no threat, yet Dick can't quite relax.  
  
''Are you okay? Lookin' kind of pale there, shorty.''  
  
_Spread your legs wider, your stance needs to support you, give you balance. I could push you right now and you would lose your footing. Focus, Robin!_  
  
''Hi, Babs''  
  
She's talking but he can't hear a word she's saying; it's all blurred and muffled as all the other voices around him fight for dominance. Dick can't focus on one for too long because he has to keep listening for the rest, for a threatening word or whisper, has to make sure they're not looking at him in the wrong way, has to make sure the close proximity is just coincidental. 

''Dick? Hellooo?'' Barbara waves a hand in front of his face and Dick backs away from the hand in relentless terror. ''Is everything okay?''  
  
Dick swallows and smoothens his hair, some stray locks have escaped the backslick and for some inexplicable reason he has to loosen his tie.  
  
''Yeah, yeah I'm... fine.'' he takes a deep breath. ''Terrific.''  
  
Barbara doesn't look too convinced, but decides not to smother him.  
  
''Aren't you getting late for history?''  
  
''Yeah, I - I better go. You going the same way?''  
  
She rolls her eyes with a tired groan.  
  
''Yeaaah. Advanced English calls my name.''  
  
''I thought you liked English?''  
  
''Pshyeah, but Professor Callahan is boring me out of my skull.''  
  
''The hundred year drawl? Yeah, it gets kind of tedious.''  
  
''Not to mention he  _never_  changes his tone of voice! It's so monotone I swear I could throw my book at him just so his shriek would give some variation.'' Then her face turns slack and with a deadpan look she speaks in a dark, excruciating monotone. ''If you turn to page two hundred and twenty two we can go over the linguistic rules and their many interesting roots. Did anyone know that the word smorgasbord comes from Swedish?''  
  
Dick gives her a small, but genuine, smile.  
  
''Sounds like him, alright.''  
  
Barbara laughs.  
  
''I swear I'm  _this_  close to moving into Arkham sometimes.''  
  
Dick winces subtly.  
  
''I know the feeling.''

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dick knows that what the teacher says is probably important. From what J'onn has told him, there’s a test coming up soon and he should get ready. Despite this, he finds it impossible to make himself care.   
  
Ms. Lund always was his favorite and, though sometimes a bit of a rambler, he learned the hard way to always pay attention. There was always a little important tidbit slipped between the long speeches about some inconsequential trivia, but he can't this time. He tries, he really does, but the  _door is closed_  and the room which before had seemed so huge is now frighteningly small.

 

The girl at the bench beside him is  _too close_  and even if no one is even looking at him - all busy doodling in their notebooks or texting or staring dumbly through the window - his body still anticipates something to happen.  
  
''Mr. Grayson?''  
  
Dick looks up at her with wide, paranoid eyes and had he not been too busy breathing he would have seen the awkward shift in her pose.  
  
''Mr. Grayson, I asked you a question.''  
  
Dick is struck speechless for the first time since he started taking the class. He knows no matter the question he probably has the answer, but it's hidden so deeply within his brain, so far beneath all the rubble and junk he can't locate it. Instead his mind simply draws a blank. Dick stutters something he hopes sounds like a reply, but it's obvious by the snickers behind him that he is only making a fool out of himself.  
  
''Are you alright, dear?'' Ms. Lund asks and her face wrinkles with an emotion Dick can't discern. ''Are you feeling ill?''  
  
Dick can't breathe, can't think, can barely even see as his vision is getting blurry and he almost doesn't notice the panic grab a hold on him because he's starting to get so used to it, after being in a condition of constant fear for weeks on end it is hard to even notice. The shift is subtle to him, but not to the people around him.  
  
''What's wrong, Grayson?'' a girl snickers behind him and Dick wants to turn around and glare at her but he can't  _move_. ''Nervous?''  
  
''Now, behave, Ms. Thompson. We all get nervous from time to time!''   
  
Ms. Lund, bless her soul, tries to defend him but Dick just wants her to shut up because she's making it so much worse, and suddenly he's so angry with her; he wants to throw the bench over and punch a wall but he needs to be calm, needs to be collected because he is a  _Wayne_ , damn it.   
  
Bruce would certainly hear about him throwing tantrums and then he would be looking at him in that special way Dick hates because he can't lie to Bruce, not really, and Bruce would know he can't even handle something as simple as going to school. Something every thirteen year old is supposed to handle, but he can't handle it and it's embarrassing, it's exhausting because it's not  _hard_ , yet it feels nearly impossible and Dick can't stay in that room any longer.  
  
''Ms. Lund, may I be excused? I - I need to go to the bathroom.''  
  
She gives him but one caring look before she nods.  
  
''Of course, Mr. Grayson. Go ahead.''  
  
He mumbles a quiet  _thanks_  and leaves. Quickly out the door and through the corridor, his steps increasing in speed to the sound of his heartbeat which is starting to race, starting to hurt in his chest and Dick has to go faster because the floor is starting to sway back and forth with the smooth, swinging movements of a pendulum. It's only barely that he notices bumping into someone - why would anyone be in the hall anyway? It's class, why would anyone be there if it wasn't to hurt him, harm him, take him away and --  

''Watch where you're going!''  
  
Dick doesn't look at her, just lets full, naked panic grab a hold of him and draw him onwards. Dick doesn't want to give in to his emotions because right now he feels like if he does, they will never let him go but he can't be near her, can't be near anyone because they're going to  _hurt_  him and Dick just wants to be alone.  
  
So he runs and runs until his muscles ache, he does not stop until he reaches the bathroom and shuts the door closed quickly behind him. His breath is still racing, too much air escaping and too little entering, his lungs feel like they’re shrinking.

Dick doesn't have time to breathe as he gets on his knees to look under the stalls; checks for feet and when he finds none he climbs up the stall walls instead, in case someone is standing on the toilet - standing in ambush, waiting to attack him just when he lets his guard down but – there is no one there.

Satisfied but still not calm he turns on one of the taps and watches the water run fast and clear down the porcelain.  
  
Dick meets the tired, frantic eyes of his reflection and not until now does he see the dark circles under his eyes. The sweat glistens brightly in the light of the ceiling lamps, and in its cold shine he looks sallow and hideous; like a sick animal to be taken outside and put down.   
  
He splashes his face with water before sinking down onto the floor. He rests his back against the cold wall as he brings his knees to his chest and, still not able to get enough air, forms a tightly knit ball of limbs.

 

* * *

  
  
  
''Uhm,  _rude_!'' Artemis growls as the tiny little boy doesn't even stop to apologize, just runs like someone set fire to his shoes. ''Is he even old enough to be here?''  
  
Bette rolls her eyes as she digs through her locker. Artemis is already slightly annoyed because had Bette not forgotten her books for the millionth time this week, maybe they wouldn't be late to class and she wouldn't have to take the guaranteed, most probably endless lecture from their teacher - because it's  _always_  fair to blame the new girl.  
  
''Oh, circus boy? Yeah, he's weird. Like I said before,  _ignore_  him.''  
  
Artemis frowns.  
  
''Circus boy?''  
  
Then suddenly she recognizes him; he had flown past her so quickly and she had been so angry because it had really hurt to bump into him - the kid was like a freaking missile - she hadn't really registered what he looked like.   
  
''Oh, he's that weirdo who took a picture of me on my first day!''  
  
Bette snorts.  
  
''Told you he was weird.''  
  
''It's Dick Grayson, right? From the Flying Graysons?''  
  
Bette closes the locker, but not before she makes kissing noises at her Superman poster.  
  
''Yeah, kind of sad, really. What happened to them, I mean.''  
  
''Yeah...'' Artemis suddenly feels a little guilty about imagining herself kicking the boy's head in for almost trampling her, but then her shoulder throbs in pain again as if to remind her. ''They were murdered, right?''  
  
''Right in front of him. He was like, eight... nine... something.''  
  
''Did you ever get to see them? Perform, I mean.''  
  
Bette smiles and hugs her books.  
  
'’Nah. Wanted to, but didn’t have the time’’ she shrugs. ‘’Too late for that now, I s'pose.''  
  
Artemis bites her lip as the boy's image won't get out of her head; there was just something so distressed about him, and she can't help but feel like she is supposed to do something, like she's supposed to care. Why, she doesn't really know, but the feeling is merciless.  
  
''Maybe I should go talk to him.''  
  
Bette gives her a look which seems reserved for a crazy person.  
  
''Why?''  
  
''I don't know'' Artemis grimaces. ''He just looked kind of... upset.''  
  
''Maybe he has some kind of stomach bug. You wouldn't want to get sick, would you?''  
  
''No, but...'' 

''I'm sure he's just throwing up or something. It's been going around lately. My tennis partner was bedridden for like, two weeks because of that.''  
  
''Really...'' Artemis isn't really listening anymore and by the time Bette has opened her mouth again, she’s already started to walk away.  
  
''Yeah, really - hey, where are you going?''  
  
''Just have to check on him!'' she waves at the other girl over her shoulder. ''I'll catch up!''  
  
Bette rolls her eyes, but lets the other go.  
  
''Fine! Your funeral!''  
  
Artemis is gone quickly, and Bette can't do much more than look strangely after her as she disappears. With a shrug of her shoulder she turns around and, as intentioned, heads to class.  
  


* * *

  
  
Artemis opens the door slowly, hesitantly.

 It's only after having stared at it for a few minutes that she even dares to enter. She has been listening quietly, but hasn't heard anything sounding remotely like vomiting. It'd have been less awkward if he  _was_  sick, in which case she could just leave him alone.

But it is eerily quiet and for a while she hopes he won't be in there at all. Maybe he went to the bathroom upstairs. Maybe he was in a broom closet or outside, somewhere that wasn't there and close to her. Artemis doesn't know, but she can't relax until she makes sure so, with a tentative move she opens the door and steps inside.  
  
''Oh'' she says, her eyes widening in hot embarrassment as she sees the boy. ''There you are.''  
  
Dick looks at her in something too much like fear, but Artemis has no idea what reason he would have to fear her. So far they have barely even spoken and it wasn't like she said anything nasty to him, either. Maybe he was bullied, or something, and that was why he was so upset and looking at her like she was a prowling tiger and he was some crippled little lamb.  
  
''What are  _you_  doing here?''  
  
He looks angry now, like she has personally wronged him just by being there. It's enough for her concern to be replaced by irritation. She crosses her arms and can’t help but glare at him.  
  
''This is a unisex bathroom, thank you very much. Maybe I had to pee, ever think of that? Or is this your bathroom? I don't see Grayson anywhere on the door''  
  
Dick's eyes narrow instantly at her, for a tiny second there she almost wants to back away.  
  
''If you're peeing then pee. Stop talking to me.''  
  
''What's your deal, anyway? I don't know how it works in the circus, but when  _I_  run into someone at least I have the decency to apologize!''  
  
Dick lets out a half sigh, half growl as he leans his head against his knees.  
  
''Fine, I'm sorry I ran into you. Can you just  _go_  now?''  
  
''No.''   
  
'' _No_?''  
  
The more he glares at her the more resolute she gets in her decision to stick around, if only to annoy him.  
  
''What's wrong?'' she says, but her voice is a little kinder. He does look genuinly upset. ''Do you have some kind of... condition?''  
  
Dick cocks a brow and almost laughs, but it dies in his throat before it even gets a chance to surface. Instead he shakes his head.  
  
''Yeah, yeah, I'm... I have... uhm... Panic... Disorder.''  
  
''Oh.'' she says, a little guiltily.  
  
''Yeah.''  
  
''Bummer.''  
  
''Tell me about it.''  
  
Dick only kind of feels slightly bad for lying to her, but he has to remind himself that this isn't Artemis as he knows her. This isn't his teammate and he isn't Robin, for the moment they are simply students in the same school who don't even know each other. One of which has a picture of them on his cell phone like some kind of creepy stalker.   
  
''So...'' the blonde crouches down after a few minutes of silence, but she can't quite bring herself to look at him. ''Are you... I mean, obviously you're not fine but...''  
  
''Yeah, I'm alright. I just... panicked, a little, I guess.''  
  
''Did something happen?''  
  
Dick pulls a hand through his hair. This was  _not_  how he had expected his day to go.  
  
''Not really. I just... choked.''  
  
''I see.''

He nods at her, but keeps his eyes on his shoes as he counts the wrinkles in the leather. Artemis glances at him discretely, as she can't shake the feeling that there is something so disturbingly familiar about him. Maybe it's because he's famous, she reckons. Not only a former circus acrobat but also the ward of Bruce Wayne, Gotham's golden boy. Artemis isn't really sure, but it irks her nonetheless.  
  
''Does it happen often?''  
  
''Not really. It's been more usually, but...''  
  
The two meet each other’s stares. Dick barely, just barely, wants to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.  
  
''Are you getting any help for it?''  
  
He shrugs.  
  
''I don't know what that help would be.''  
  
''Well, I mean like... therapy or something. I mean, if you have a diagnosed panic disorder...''  
  
''It's  _fine_ '' he snarls at her, and the sudden change in temperament catches her by surprise. ''I can take care of it.''  
  
''Yeah.  _That's_  why you're hiding on the floor of a bathroom in the middle of class.''  
  
Dick gives her a deadpan stare.  
  
''Hey, no'' Artemis continues, rolling her eyes. ''That's completely normal and not dysfunctional at all!''  
  
''You're very comforting''   
  
''Nice sarcasm, there.''  
  
Dick smirks dully.  
  
''I try.''  
  
She looks at him for a while, in silence, and Dick is starting to worry that maybe they're getting too close. Maybe she's close to figuring him all out, and his throat starts to feel tight again.  
  
''Is it your parents?''  
  
Her question has him so taken by surprise, he's just about to get to his feet when it shocks him into a sudden state of immobility.  
  
''I'm sorry  _what_?''  
  
Artemis looks away guiltily.  
  
''Well, I mean... You're Dick Grayson, right?''  
  
''Can't see any other reason someone would refer to me as  _circus boy_.''  
  
''Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you. I was just... you're really strong, you know.'' she pats her shoulder tenderly to emphasize her point, and Dick flashes her a tiny little grin.   
  
''Sorry. I didn't think there'd be any  _loiterers_.''  
  
She waves her hand dismissively.  
  
''I know, I know. Bette forgot her books and we had to go get it and now Mr. Carter's going to rip my head off and... yeah''   
  
Silence falls over them again, but it isn't as awkward at it previously had been. Dick is starting to calm down and he's almost gotten back the sensation in his fingers again when she speaks next.  
  
''So do you still do it? Acrobatics, I mean.''  
  
Dick gives her a curious glance as he rests his head against his hand.  
  
''Sure I do. Wouldn't give it up for the world.''  
  
''Doesn't it... isn't it painful, though? Doesn't it remind you of... of them, I mean?''  
  
Artemis knows she may be stepping too close to the line, pressing too many buttons, but she can't stop herself from talking. She can't understand why but there's just something that makes her want to say the right thing; no matter how many stupid ones she has to go through before she gets there.  
  
''Yeah, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing''  
  
''What do you mean?''  
  
''Well...'' Dick shrugs. ''It's like their legacy to me, you know? It's what we did, together, and...''  
  
''If you do it, maybe it's kind of like they're there with you again?''  
  
Dick swallows; for some reason his mouth feels very dry.  
  
''Yeah.''  
  
''I know what you mean. My dad...'' Artemis snorts. ''My dad's a class one a-hole. But... he's still my dad, you know?''  
  
Dick nods.  
  
''Yeah.''  
  
''And... '' and she doesn't know why she's even telling him this, she doesn't even  _know_  him.   
  
But maybe that's just why; this boy doesn't know her so he can't really judge her, and even if he does, why should she care? Maybe he can understand what loss feels like. Artemis hasn't lost her family to death, but in a way that would almost have been better. Maybe then she wouldn't have to see them tread a path she can’t follow, so close to her and still miles away. Maybe then she wouldn't have to  _fight_  them.

 

For all her deeply buried anger, for all the ways she wishes to harm her father for the things he has done; she can't shake the feeling of bonds of blood. Can't kill the small feeling that she misses him. Slightly. Or, at least, the person she likes to remember him to have been a long, long time ago.

 

''I dunno. It's probably stupid.'' she says, and Dick doesn't know what to really say.   
  
It feels slightly shameful, sort of like eaves-dropping, or reading her journal, because Artemis believes she's sharing her secrets with a stranger, she has no real clue she's talking to a teammate and it feels wrong, because he's not really supposed to  _know_  this. He wants to say something to make it better, but Dick can't even make himself feel better so he decides to just be quiet.  
  
''Is... Is Bruce Wayne a good dad?'' Artemis says and gives him an honestly curious look. Dick can only smirk at her again, which is really starting to annoy her because there's just something so inherently  _bratty_  about it.  
  
''He has his flaws. His many,  _many_  flaws but...'' his lips quirk into a little smile instead and for a moment his eyes are fond, nostalgic and maybe even a bit sad. ''I don't know what I would have done that day. If Bruce hadn't... taken me in, I... I don't know what would have happened. I had lost  _everything_  that ever mattered to me, and I didn't think it was ever going to be okay again.''  
  
''Did it?'' Artemis is afraid to ask, but does anyway. ''Get okay, I mean?''  
  
''Yeah. In a way... it really did. I'll never forget them, I mean, they're my parents. And I'll always, always miss them -- it still... still  _hurts_  but I've gained so many great people in my life and...'' he scratches his cheek sheepishly. ''This is sounding really  _lame_  but...''  
  
''No, no, I get it! Like, you lost them and you love them but... you have a new family now. And even if you're not connected by blood, the bond is still strong and you don't really know what you would have ever done without them.''  
  
Dick looks at her for a long moment during which his eyes are clear and so blue she feels cold; there is something honest in them, but she can't for the life of her figure out why or what it is. Just that for the smallest of moments, she feels like they’ve connected.  
  
''Yeah'' Dick says. ''Yeah, exactly. I wouldn't trade them for the world.''  
  
The two share a confused look.

  
''Yeah. Ah. I'm uh. Late for class.'' Artemis says and awkwardly gets up, hoping it's not a blush she can feel spreading across her face. ''You okay, now?''  
  
Dick nods at her, and he looks like he means it.  
  
''Yeah. Go to your execution''  
  
Artemis snorts.  
  
''Thanks, I will.''  
  
Dick gives her a mock salute as she opens the door, and though not very inclined to leave the bathroom just yet, he doesn't feel as much like hiding anymore.  
  
''Mind your step, circus boy'' she smirks at him halfway out the door. Dick gives her a face that shows he is clearly not amused.  
  
''Mind your books, newbie.''  
  
She gives him a little scoff, then a wave.  
  
''See ya.''  
  
As the door closes, Dick leans his head back against the wall and draws a sigh of relief.  
  
''See ya, Artemis.''


	6. Six

'’Master Dick, are you going to come out willingly or will I have to come get you by my own means?''

Dick ignores the butler like he has for most of the morning; it's a Saturday and Bruce is off on League business, so it's just Alfred and him and though normally it wouldn't be a problem, today Dick is finding himself more and more frustrated with the older man.

''A little busy here.''

''Master Dick, the sun is shining, it is a beautiful day. Do you really think you should be cooped up like this?''

''I am doing my homework'' Dick stresses the words in a weak hope that it will get the butler off his back when, in truth, he finished his homework hours ago.

Dick couldn't sleep, or, he did for a short hour which was only plagued by nightmares. So instead he got up and sat by his computer and got to work. That had been five hours ago and now he didn't really have anything to do. He considered hacking the cave to mess with M'gann and Conner but wasn't all that enthusiastic about it; a good prank needed commitment and right now Dick just felt like digging a hole in the floor that he could sit in forever. Last thing he wanted to do was go outside.

''Master Dick, I am sorry to inform you that if you do not wilinglyleave your room within five minutes, I am forced to use slyer means of persuasion.''

''Sounds great, Alfie.''

There are no more sounds other than the clattering of keys through the door and, as moments pass with nothing happening, Alfred decides to follow through on his threat.

''Very well, master Dick.''

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

''So good of you to come, young master Wallace.''

Wally twitches around in the hallway, full of excitement but unable to shake the nervousness weighing him down.

''You sure this is uh... a good idea, Alf?''

''Master Wallace, I believe we are far past the point of good ideas. Right now, I am glad there are any ideas at all.''

Wally sighs.

''Yeah. I... yeah. It's just...'' he squirms under the interrogating gaze. ''I just don't want to ... push him, y'know?''

''Do not worry yourself, master Wallace.'' The butler leans in for a sly smile and adds ''I am sure, if it comes to it, master Dick won’t mind being pushed by you''

Wally quirks a brow as he's not sure exactly what the hell that is supposed to mean, but as the stare of the older man is making him uneasy, he runs up the stairs like a bullet.

Wally hears the clattering pause the moment he arrives and he knows Dick can tell it's him; somehow he always does. Wally tries to calm down, take deep breaths as he goes over the peptalk he prepared this morning in case he lost his nerve - _C'mon, Walman. It's nothing. You can do it! Eye of the tiger! What's the worst thing? A no? You can handle a no, you've heard no a thousand times. You're like the king of no! Besides, he's like, one feet tall. What's he going to do? Except cripple you with his ninja skills. Nah, Dick wouldn't do that, would he? Naah. You can do it, Wally! You're a West, Kid Flash, protégé of the fastest man alive! Captain Cold ain't got nothin' on you! What's a little dwarf going to do that's any worse? It's just talking anyway. You can do it, champ!_ \- but he soon realizes that it isn't working. Nervously, Wally closes his eyes and knocks on the door before he has the chance to change his mind.

''Yes?'' the voice of the younger boy carries through.

''Hey, man'' Wally ignores the tremble in his voice and hopes the other won't notice. ''Wanna hit the arcades with me?''

''No thanks.''

The quickness of the reply catches Wally by surprise at first. A smidgeon of hurt runs through his fingertips before suddenly Wally is filled with a new, bright determination. If it was a challenge the kid wanted, well, Wally’s sure going to prove to be one.

''Dude, c'mon. You've been inside for like... days.''

''Untrue. I've been to school.''

Wally rolls his eyes at the door.

''Exactly. You need a break.''

Dick doesn't reply and soon the clattering of the keyboard starts again, a bit more deliberate this time. Wally glares at the door and hopes that somehow Dick can feel it.

''No. No, you're coming with me, man!'' Wally raises his chin, crosses his arms in an attempt to look bigger in the hopes that he will also feel as such. ''You are coming with me to the arcades and we are going to have tons of fun!''

''Go away, Twinkletoes''

''Dude, you are so lucky I can't vibrate my molecules! Yet!''

Dick goes back to ignoring him and it is a good long minute that Wally just stares at the door defiance.  
He hadn't expected it to be easy, but never did he think it'd be this hard. Dick never says no to him, not unless he has some important Batbusiness he’s cramming for an exam. Maybe not even then.

But Wally is adamant, he has made up his mind and nothing, not even the Boy Wonder, can make him sway this time. Wally never got his date, never had the chance to ask and he is not backing out now.

Sure, it won't be a date-date, but he'd get to spend time with his best friend doing one of his many favorite things, and Dick needs to get out of the house. From what Alfred’s told him, he was acting like some sort of crazy hermit. He was acting like Batman and it kind of scares Wally, because Dick isn't Bruce - never will be - and Wally will be damned if he ever lets him forget that.

''Listen, fancy pants!'' he leans his hand against the door and drums his fingers impatiently. ''We are going to the arcade in five minutes! Either you get out, dressed and ready for fun time with the Walman or I will --''

The door opens so unexpectedly Wally almost topples over. In the last second he regains his balance and gives Dick a wide eyed look of surprise. Dick's in full Mr. Dark Glasses get up, from the shades to the black jacket and, today, a blue hoodie. There is something strange about the way the clothes hang on his body, like sheets on a coat hanger and Wally has to suppress the look of discomfort on his face, because it's now that he realizes he's looking even smaller than last time he saw him. Worry clenches his stomach but he tries to push it away and give Dick a look of confidence.

''That was fast.''

Dick cocks a brow.

''I know how annoying you can get.''

''Dude. Mean.''

''Let's just go.'' Dick regards him over the edge of the shades. ''Where are we going, anyway?''

And Wally's face lights up like a star system. There is joy surging through his eyes and suddenly he has no idea what he was so nervous about.

''To Dante's Fun Zone! And later I thought we could go grab a bite, like maybe at the McD, you know the one across the street? Or maybe we could eat at the Pizza Plaza, 'cus man, I've been craving a family size pepperoni pizza for weeks but I mean, it's cool, wherever you wanna go, I'm game! Maybe we could check out this new place aunt Iris' been telling me about, like they have all this fish in a tank and you can --''

''Wally!''

''Sorry.''

Dick gives him a look he’s practiced exactly for when his friend goes off on his rants. Wally can't tell by his face, because for the moment Dick is trying to look as bothered as possible, but inside he is fighting a big, dumb smile.

''Wherever you wanna go is fine.''

Wally doesn't believe his grin can get any wider, and yet it grows.

''Really?!''

''Yeah'' Dick nods ''Either way is --''

He doesn't get to finish the sentence as Wally has already grabbed his wrist and is superspeeding down the stairs quicker than Dick can even react.

''ThisisgoingtobesoawesomeDicklemmetellya -- bye, Alfred!'' he gives a quick wave that looks only like a blur to the butler as the two speed by and out the door. ''-- butIwastooootallygonnashowyouthisnewgameand--''

''Wally, slow down!''

Alfred watches the colorful streak cross the yard and disappear out the gates, and it is with a tiny smile that he closes the door.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Wally is talking ceaselessly, like he usually is, but Dick can't hear word he's saying. He thought that after going back to school, maybe large crowds of closely packed people wouldn't unsettle him anymore but as the two set foot in the mall it is obvious to him that that was a dumb thing to believe.

It's not the same thing when he's on a mission, because then he always has the comfort of hiding behind his mask, and since the team has been dealing with covert ops the crowds are never large and always far away. He’s always the one hunting and never the hunted; and right now he can't help but feel like seconds away from being hit by a truck. Every sense he has is shouting danger at him, but his body is immobilized and heavy as Wally drags him through the building.

Wally doesn't notice his strained face as he is much too busy talking, and though Dick knows he can find comfort in the sound of the his voice, he just can't focus on it, can't find it in the mess of hundreds of sounds surrounding him.

His history test was a disaster, for as much as Dick tries, he can't seem to concentrate lately. Instead his skin is burning with restlessness. He can't sit still, can't stop his racing thoughts, can't slow down long enough to do anything productive and at the same time doing nothing drives him even more insane; Dick needs to do something but he can't find one thing to focus long enough on.

''Dick?''

Wally has noticed his silence and slows his pace, and not until now does he notice his hand still lingers on the boy's wrist. Wally releases it immediately as if it burns. With deep regret and - and fear - he meets Dick's shielded gaze.

''Dude! I'm so sorry! I totally forgot I wasn't supposed to touch you, I just --'' then his face morphs into something different, something unsettling and Dick suddenly feels naked under the green eyes. ''Dude!'

''What?'' Dick says, a bit worried.

''Dude, I touched you!''

''Yeah, I know you --''

And then it dawns on Dick too, and for a moment the two boys just stare dumbly at each other.

''Dude, that's great! I ... That's amazing!''

Dick doesn't find it in him to speak; he tries to but the sounds his mouth is trying to make are jumbled and nonsensical. Instead he closes his mouth and takes a long, good look at his wrist, quietly rubbing it. Wally feels insane with happiness, over such a small little gesture and he can't believe Dick actually let him touch him. The boy hadn't even seemed to notice, like it wasn't strange at all.  
  
''How do you feel?''

Dick’s not sure how to answer.

''I...''

''Can I...'' then Wally looks down at his own shoes, wrings his hands and blushes. ''Nah, forget it.''

Dick gives him a curious glance.

''No, what?''

Wally laughs nervously. He wants to slap himself stupid for even thinking about asking such an embarrassing, idiotic thing. But Dick's eyes are prodding, the glasses have slid down his nose and Wally finds himself unable to escape his stare. Just one little glance at him and Wally's beaten.

''Can I...'' he squirms a little, but hopes the other won't notice. ''Do it again?''

Dick frowns.

''Touch my wrist?''

Wally laughs again, and it's awkward and embarrassed and genuinely frightened and Dick feels overwhelmed with the sudden urge to please him. Something small, but urgent, is pulling at him and it's with great surprise, to both of them, that Dick by his own accord raises his hand and grabs Wally's. The two boys say nothing, just stare in great bewilderment and confusion at their hands and nothing seems to move around them.

''Are you..?'' Wally doesn't even know. ''Is this... okay? With you?''

Dick takes a deep breath and swallows, his throat is doing that thing again when he starts having trouble breathing properly and Wally can feel the tremble going through his body, can feel the way Dick's hand shakes in his and gently, he squeezes it. Dick looks at the hand, then at Wally and back at the hand again before he gives an unsteady nod.

''Yeah'' Dick breathes shakily. ''Yeah. I'm... I'm okay.''

Wally smiles big and brightly at him. Before Dick can register the glint in his eyes the two are moving again. Wally is dragging him through the crowd and they're close to him, too close but it feels -- slightly okay, because Wally is there and he can trust Wally. He can count on him and he's behind his shades and he's fine. Almost close to alright, because Wally is there with him. Just like he’s always been.

''See, it's fine, man.'' Wally says ''No one here is going to hurt you.''

Dick gives a nervous glance around but says nothing, he doesn't want to discuss it, for despite his many doubts and the fear cluttering up his lungs and heart and mind, he wants Wally to be right. He needs him to be right and Dick tries his hardest to let his worries go and trust him.

''Not to sound corny or anything'' Wally says with clumsy words and for some reason he refuses to look at his friend. ''But dude, I missed you.''

Dick smiles at the back of his head and for a moment he doesn't know what to say. There are a million things he wants Wally to know, a million things he has to know but Dick doesn't know how to word it. He doesn't have it all clear to himself, no matter how many nights and days and restless hours he's spent thinking about it.

Dick doesn't know exactly why or what or when or even how, and it frightens him on so many different levels; but it's not like the fear that the man standing by the plant to his left looks like he could be carrying a weapon, not the way the talking, muscular teenagers by the food court frighten him - it is a fear much stronger, much sharper in the back of his head. It lingers with him next to the panic for his life and pushes at him, as if it needs him to do something, expects him to say something but Dick doesn't know what in the world that thing could be.

''-- so I was thinking we could try out Zombie Attackers From Mars and then we could go test that new DDR they got set up in the back room and --''

But it doesn't matter. Because Wally is there and Wally is safe and normal. Someone brushes too close to him, barely grazes by his arm and Dick immediately feels his body tense to stone, and, without even noticing it, he presses closer to Wally and the grip around the speedster's hand tightens. Wally gives Dick a curious glance, see's the panicked way his eyes are darting around and the quick rise and fall of his chest; it's almost close to hyperventilating but too clumsy and difficult.

''Hey, hey, dude''

Dick's eyes meet his instantly, wide and blue and terrified.

''Dude'' Wally says, reassuringly and squeezes his hand again. ''It's alright. No one's going to do anything.''

Dick looks at him for a short moment before he nods. He wants to believe him so hard it hurts, and as Wally leads him through the crowd and into Dante's Fun Zone, never straying from his side, never letting go of his hand yet not forcing it to stay in his grip, Dick feels his shoulders relax.

 

* * *

 

 

It's not every day that Wally beats him at so many games and though normally Dick would be angry about losing, today he doesn't really mind. He's just glad to be there at all. At first he can't focus enough on the game to last even half a minute, but with the hours he starts to calm down. Wally catches him glancing at the other visitors, sees his tense jaw and the hand subconsciously reaching for the utility belt Wally is sure he has hidden underneath the hoodie.

But little by little, Dick relaxes and his mind gets more and more immersed in the game. A part of him is still on constant alert and his muscles are sore and tender from the ceaseless tension in them; but Dick is having fun, he's having a good time and everything feels fine for the first time in so long he can't even remember the last time he grinned like this.

The two play game after game for hours; it's enough to even have Wally forget about eating and not until his stomach kicks him with a sting of hunger do they leave the arcade. Wally is talking about nothing and everything and though Dick says very little, Wally doesn't mind. The nice thing about him is that he doesn't really need a reply, and especially with Dick he's just glad the boy is even there with him.

Dick is, though partially paying attention, buried in thoughts which stampede through his head. But he's not really thinking about the smell, the noise or the movements of the people, not as much as he usually is. There is the faint recognition of movement in the corner of his mind, but as Dick walks closely to Wally - like hiding behind a shield - his mind is riddled with confusion.

Dick doesn't know what it is, but it's heavy and warm in his chest. All he knows is that it's something familiar; Dick has felt the strange weight in his chest for longer than he really wants to acknowledge.

Always there, always urging him but never revealing what it really wants. Dick doesn't know why a jolt runs through his spine when Wally's hand brushes by his as he is wildly gesturing - talking about a new movie, from the sounds of it - or why when Wally gives a long, deep stare at him Dick just wants to pull his hood over his head and hide. Dick has a suspicion, has had for a long while, but it is a suspicion he hasn't wanted to address - because it would make things difficult, too complicated and he doesn't want to risk ruining anything.

Dick knows he can trust Wally, he wants to do that more than anything but it's hard -- so much harder now because Dick finds himself unable to trust anyone. Even Alfred and Bruce, who were always there for him, always in the back of the shadows but within enough reach to let Dick know all he had to do was say the word. All he has to do is ask and someone will be there.

He tries, he really does, to go back to normal, to be like he always was and act unaffected. And Dick is a good liar, he was raised by the world's greatest detective - Dick has to be a master deceiver. Now, especially, his very existence depends on it.

''Heellooooo?''

Dick glances at Wally who is wearing a look of uttermost impatience.

''Huh?''

''Dude, I asked where you want to eat? I'm starving!'' The speedster's stomach growls as if to emphasize his point.

Dick takes a quick glance around; the food court is packed with people and, though hungry as well, he can feel his appetite diminishing.

''I'm not... I don't know. Wherever, I guess.''

Wally rubs his hands mischievously and smirks.

''Then I vote pizza!''

Dick shrugs and Wally takes it as permission to drag them both into the appropriate line. Across the area the smell of countless different cuisines fills the air and the blend of contradictory smells suddenly has Dick very nauseous. He swallows and tries to make his stomach settle, but the closer to the line they get the worse he feels.

There aren't more people than normal, but Dick doesn't care; they are everywhere and close, too close to him and he knows they're not really being closer than people normally are when standing in line - actually the distance between the people is generous - but his throat is already closing up and his lungs seem filled with sand.

Wally is talking again, about food this time, and doesn't seem to notice, doesn't seem to pick up on the signals of the surging panic. Or maybe Dick is hiding it too well; he can't tell anymore, he's losing his grip on his demeanor and it frightens him. Dick takes a deep breath and clutches his sides, shields his frame in case someone tries to do something, anything, while the colors and shapes around him blur and blend into an incoherent mess of chaos.

''Dick?''

Wally's voice is muffled through the blood rushing through his ears, drowning him together with the noise of the talking voices, scraping cutlery, the chewing, the laughing and the smells -- he feels his stomach turn a thousand times and suddenly Dick doesn't think he can stand up anymore.

''Dude, you okay?''

''I need --'' Dick tries to press through words much too large for his mouth ''I need to -- sit, I need to sit down''

Wally looks at him worriedly but quickly nods.

''Okay, that's fine. I'll order for you and you go grab a table, alright?''

Dick only manages a nod as an answer before he is stumbling away from the line. His limbs feel heavy and slow, like he's wading through concrete and the panic reaches its cold fingers through his body, through his muscles and nerves and it feels like molten steel in his arteries. When Dick has found an empty table - far away from the other people - he is already receiving strange looks. Dark spots dance before his eyes as Dick steadies his head against his hands and breathes -- shakily, insufficiently, but breathes nonetheless.

It feels like forever before Wally gets back to the table and Dick, not having expected him, jumps at his arrival. Wally puts the food down on the table and regards him in worry but says nothing. Instead he sits down and places out the cutlery, the drinks clutched between his arm and ribs and the glasses balancing on his other hand. Dick rubs at his eyes behind the glasses and Wally can't tell for sure but he thinks the boy looks two shades whiter than he did just moments ago.

''Dude, are you alright?''

Dick shakes his head, then nods, shakes it again before he sighs.

''Too much'' he mumbles and it's with great difficulty his friend hears him. ''Too much''

''You need to get used to this, Dick'' Wally's voice is kind. ''C'mon. Baby steps. You already spent time at the arcades with me. That was fun, right?''

Dick glances at him over the edge of the shades, uncertainly. His eyes seem to vibrate in panic.

''Yeah'' he says tentatively, not sure if he can trust his voice to hold.

''And you've been to school, and nothing happened, right?''

Dick draws a heavy breath.

''Nothing happened'' he repeats, mechanically. ''Nothing happened, it's fine. I'm fine. It's good. It's alright.''

''Exactly. It's going to be fine now too, man, trust me. You just need to breathe.''

But Dick can't breathe, the smell of food is too overwhelming and he can't even look at the pizza for fear of vomiting right then and there. He'd have thought his stomach had calmed lately, he hadn't been throwing up as much at all, but for the moment he doesn't trust his body.

''I didn't know what pizza you wanted'' Wally changes the subject in a weak attempt to take Dick's mind off it, get him to refocus and just stop thinking so goddamn much. ''But I took the one you usually get.''

The sweat is cold and thick as it covers his skin and Dick faintly worries that Wally can smell it.

''I'm not... very hungry'' Dick mumbles into his hands.

Wally sighs tiredly.

''Dick, come on. Don't be like this with me, man.''

''I'm just -- I'm not hungry.''

And Wally is suddenly annoyed, he's suddenly angry and overcome with the strong urge to scream at him. But Wally bites his lip, closes his eyes as he tries to calm himself, tries to remember that Dick isn't Dick, not really, that he's scared and traumatized and Wally tries to understand. But it's so hard because he doesn't even know what he's really dealing with; Wally feels like he's handling volatile chemicals with no instructions. Wally tries to put the pieces back together, he really does, but he doesn't even know where to start.

''Dude, have you seen yourself lately?''

Dick doesn't answer, doesn't even breathe. Wally looks at the ceiling and frustration covers his face like a thick layer of soot, like the layer of dirt crawling over Dick and creeping into his pores, seeping into his cells and rotting him.

''You're like a twig'' Wally holds up his index finger and thumb to form a small crack, illustrating his words. ''A tiny little twig, bad guys could just snap you in half.''

''I'm an acrobat, Wally, I'm supposed --''

''No'' Wally says, and his voice is hard and almost - almost cold, and it forces Dick to finally look at him. ''No, don't give me that crap. Not to me, man. Just...'' Wally's eyes are just as hard and cold, but there is something desperate in them as well. ''I'm worried, dude.''

Dick stares at him blankly, then glances down at the pizza and the sight of the grease and the cheese squeezes at his gut instantly; Dick swallows down the bile and looks back at Wally again. His eyes are pleading, but the speedster is relentless and firm. He doesn't for one second let Dick go with his glare until the younger boy shakily, reluctantly, grabs his fork and knife and starts cutting the food. It takes him minutes before he holds a slize in his trembling hand, and many more before he finally gives Wally a hateful look and takes a bite.

The food seems only to grow in his mouth the more he chews, the juices swirling and mixing with his saliva it feels like glue when he finally swallows it down. Dick holds his breath as his stomach twitches and whines and he can't even focus, can't look at anything because it all makes him so nauseous, every light is too bright, every sound too loud and the chair is cold and hard to sit on. Wally never lets him go, keeps his gaze steady and firm on the other boy; Dick's face is scrunched in what Wally really hopes isn't pain and not until Dick takes another nibble does Wally finally let him go.

The two eat in silence, and not even Wally feels very hungry anymore. Dick doesn't come near to finishing half the pizza and expects Wally to eat it for him, but the speedster only stares at his own empty plate in contemplative silence.

''I'm sorry'' Dick says quietly, so quietly Wally almost doesn't hear it.

Wally leans his head against his palm, regarding his friend with a mixed expression on his face.

''Don't be. I mean... I get it. It's hard. And I don't want to push you or anything but... dude, you've got to try.''

''I do try!'' Dick says a bit too loudly, and as the people around them glance curiously at the pair, Dick shrinks back into his chair. When they've finally stopped staring, he adds in a stressed whisper ''I do try, Wally.''

''I know, dude, but...''

''But it's just not enough'' Dick shakes his head and smiles. For no real reason, he just smiles. ''That's always the problem, isn't it?''

Wally can't help but sigh.

''Dick, come on, you're not blaming yourself for... for what happened, are you?'' Dick squirms under his gaze. ''Dick, tell me you're not blaming yourself for --''

''Of course I am, Wally! What did you think? That I would just pretend it wasn't my fault? I let them capture me, let them catch me off guard, let them do everything You-Know-Who has trained me not to... I...'' Dick shakes his head and glares at the table. ''It's my --''

''It's not, okay?'' And Wally's eyes are big and hard and honest, and for a while it hurts to meet his gaze. ''You saved our butts. Thanks to you we all got out of there. And...''

Then Wally goes silent. Dick waits for him to continue, but the redhead won't even look at him now, just stares grimly at his hands.

''What?'' Dick says after a period of silence. Wally just shakes his head.

''It shouldn't have been you. It's...''

It should have been him, it shouldn't have been Dick. He should have been there for him, for his best friend, he should have helped him, not let him get captured like an idiot best friend -- Wally should have been the one to do enough, he should have been there.

''Woah, woah, hold on'' Dick lowers the shades just enough to glare at him with the most intensity he can muster. ''If you're blaming yourself now just stop it, Wally.''

''Of course I am! You're my best friend, Dick, how... If I can't even help you then how am I --''

''Because you did all you could, you did everything in your power and that's it. There's nothing more to it and I know you Wally, I know you would have helped me if you could and if you even for a second think this is your fault, then... Then you're even dumber than you look.''

Wally's lip twitches as he's not sure whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

''Was that..? Did you just make fun of me?''

''Wally, I'm serious. Don't go there. It's no one's fault but mine and I won't let you guilt yourself like this.''

Wally snorts, but he doesn't feel very much like laughing.

''You're a real piece of work, Dick.''

The younger frowns.

''What's that supposed to mean?''

''It means for being a boy genius you are really, really dumb sometimes.''

Dick doesn’t know what to say and Wally doesn’t expect him to. He reaches for the remaining pizza, bravely trying to finish it, while Dick watches him in silence. He offer his friend a slice and, after only a bit of reluctance, Dick grabs it.

 

* * *

 

 

  
They see less and less of the youngest family member with each passing day and eventually Dick won't even come down for dinner anymore. Bruce knows he should do something, say something helpful, but all he knows how to do, all he can think of, is brutal. Forceful. Interrogation techniques, tricks for when a criminal won't talk but Dick isn't a criminal, he isn't a grown man who committed something heinous; he is the victim of such deeds and Bruce knows he deserves better. Better than any of this.

Bruce doesn't understand, because he seemed to be doing better, seemed to be doing well but then he stopped getting to see the interim reports and test results from school, something which Dick always used to share proudly. Their sudden absence has him suspicious, maybe even a bit worried, but he says nothing. Maybe Dick simply forgot. After all, he has a lot to think about lately.

For some reason Dick seems more reluctant than ever to go to school, not even his math classes seem to tempt him and after Bruce has tried everything he can think of, he simply lets it be. Lets Dick be, hoping that he'll come to his senses soon enough. He knows kids sometimes do the opposite of what you tell them just for the sake of it, and though he knows Dick has never been like this about school - always did his homework, always showed up in class, even when running a fever that had Alfred try to lock him in his room until he recovered - he hopes that, in time, Dick will come around.

It's not until he gets the history class grade sheet which he was required to sign that he fully grasps it. Before he was only suspicious, but didn't have a clear idea of how bad it really was. Dick had gotten straight As for almost all of his classes since he started school; even the Bs he had received through the years could fit on one hand. Dick has never, ever gotten a C before.

Alfred tries to talk him out of it, but Bruce is already halfway up the stairs before the butler can finish the sentence. Looking pointedly at the door handle for a while, knowing it's locked without even touching it, he decides to knock like a civilized person.

''Dick. I know you're awake.''

It takes a few minutes of complete silence before he answers and Bruce is just about to knock again when he hears his voice.

''What is it?''

''Dick, I need to talk to you about your history grade sheet.'' There is more silence, longer and tenser; this time Bruce has to knock twice. ''Dick. Open the door. Now.''

Eventually, after even more silence, Bruce hears the click of the lock before the door opens slightly and a blood shot eye peers out through the crack.

''What about my grade sheet?''

''Let me in and we can talk.''

Dick makes a face but opens the door anyway. Bruce is soon inside, the paper tightly in his hand. The door closes slowly - Dick is stalling, he realizes – but eventually the boy finds his way to his bed. He sits down, hands clasped and face turned to everything and anything but his guardian.

''Care to explain?'' Bruce holds the paper out, but Dick can only keep his eyes on it for a second before he turns away, sharply, as if looking at it physically hurts.

''I don't know what to say. I think the paper makes everything pretty clear.''

Bruce's voice hardens.

''You have never gotten a C before.''

''What's the big deal? Everyone gets a C from time to time!''

''You're not everyone, Dick.''

Dick shrinks into himself slightly, only barely, and had it been anyone else but Bruce it would probably have passed by unnoticed.

''I just... It was a hard test.''

''It's history. You're good at history.''

''Well, excuse me if I'm not perfect like you are'' Dick's voice is quick and sharp with a sudden, malevolent sarcasm ''I'm so sorry the rest of the world doesn't meet your standards, but in case you hadn't noticed, us other folks? We're just human. We get Cs!''

Bruce wants to say something he knows he'll regret. Instead he closes his eyes and lets the words shrink down. He tries not to get angry, to tuck it away and forget it because he knows he has no reason to be angry - but it's the emotion that comes to mind, it's the only way he knows how to be when he's this worried and Dick should know that by now. But Dick looks just as angry, hurt, maybe even - disappointed - and Bruce shapes his voice into a more neutral tone.

''Dick. Look at me.''

Dick hesitates, his movements are slow and stiff like his muscles are fighting against him, but eventually he turns his eyes to Bruce. Bruce crouches down to be closer to his eye level, to look less intimidating, and it seems to work as Dick releases a stiff breath he hadn’t noticed holding.

''What's going on?''

Dick bites his lip and in the corner of his eye Bruce sees his hands clench.

''I just... I can't... concentrate, anymore. It's... I try but...'' Dick growls quietly. ''I don't know.''

''Did something happen?''

''No.''

The reply is too fast, too sharp, for Bruce to be fully convinced. He gives Dick a look - the look - the one Dick hates but the boy suffocates the words before they have the chance to swell out of his mouth. He needs to stay calm, collected, like Bruce would want him to be.

''Alfred says you haven't been eating much.''

Dick sighs and tears his eyes away this time. His hands are now shaking so hard he can't keep them still anymore, but he refrains from sitting on them, fights the urge because there's just no point in hiding with Bruce. Somehow he always finds out and, as much as most of Dick wants him to go away, leave him alone and let him handle it, a tiny whisper in his mind wants nothing more than for him to find out.  
  
''Have you been vomiting?''

Dick puts his face in his hands and with a heavy sigh all strength seems to leave him; his body is slack and Dick feels so very tired.

''Did Alfred tell you?''

''Dick, you're half your size.''

''Am not.''

''Maybe not, but you're thin, even for you.''

Dick looks at him from between his fingers as if watching a scary movie.

''It's not that bad.''

''How about we make a deal?''

''A deal?''

''Yes. You gain five pounds and you can go on patrol with me.''

Dick slowly lowers his hands and gives Bruce a narrow stare.

''That's not fair.''

''I think it is.''

''You don't know how it is!'' Dick's voice rises significantly and his face is sullen as he looks at his hands, suddenly nervous and as he speaks next Bruce has to strain to hear him. ''It's... I can't...''

''Can't what? Eat? Everybody eats, Dick.''

''Not in starving countries.''

''You know what I mean.''

Bruce can understand that the memories, the thoughts, nauseate him. He knows that it's hard to eat when feeling ill and he knows vomiting isn't uncommon in trauma victims but he can't know, not really, how it is from the other side. Bruce doesn't understand the way his stomach turns and flips and contorts until the mere thought of food has his mouth fill with bile.

Bruce can't know how hard it is to eat when it's nothing more than tasteless mud in his mouth; when the juices of the meat taste too much like blood, like his teeth pulled out and his cheek swelling and dripping with infection; Bruce can't understand that the sound of cutlery against porcelain is too much like the sharpening of knives and the cutting of chicken skin brings back too many memories, images that reach in like a fist and rips his stomach through his throat; Bruce can know the facts but he can't feel the absolute repulsion that spreads through every inch of his body.

''You have to eat, Dick''

Dick doesn't respond because he has nothing useful to say. He knows by now that it is futile to ever try to argue with Bruce. No matter how right he felt like he was, Bruce always won because they kept playing by his rules.

''Five pounds'' Bruce says. ''That's all.''

Dick sighs.

''What about my C?''

''Yes?''

''Aren't you going to bench me for that? Add another month on my suspension? Take away my TV time? Forbid me to see my friends?''

Bruce slowly gets up with a peculiar look in his eyes.

''You're not exactly Mr. Social as it is, Dick.''

''Says the man in the cave.''

''Even I have seen more people than you lately.'' Bruce's face is unreadable as he walk towards the door and opens it. ''What does that say about you?''

When Dick can finally think of an answer, the door has already closed.

 

* * *

 

Batman lands on the roof quietly, so quietly that even after all this time Jim Gordon gasps.  
Irritably he shuts the signal off and the clouds return to their ashen color.

''One of these days, you're going to give me a heart attack.'' Jim says tiredly.

''Commissioner.''

Jim straightens his posture and, as his nerves still stir and rustle, he reaches for his matches. Despite their partnership and the trust between them - because he has to trust him, needs to cling to the idea that there is still hope for this city - Jim gets nervous around him. There is just something about his towering, threatening figure and the narrow glare of his masked eyes.

''There is a... different... reason I called you tonight.''

Batman remains stoic, but in his chest there is a sudden coldness as he knows what the man is going to ask before he even opens his mouth. Striking a match the fire briefly illuminates his face through the dark. It gets tossed away and left is only the ember of the pipe, reflected in his glasses like fireflies.

''I haven't seen the boy for a while. Is everything..?''

''Everything is fine.''

Jim isn't very convinced, but by the tone it is obvious that Batman is not in the mood for debate.

''It's been more than a month. I didn't want to say anything at first but...'' Jim says behind a puff of smoke. ''People are starting to wonder.''

Batman looks briefly to his side as he searches for the right way to word his thoughts. The distrust and paranoia are gnawing at him, even if he knows that Jim is different. He isn't like the other deceivers and charlatans and if there is one man outside of his family he can trust, it is Jim Gordon. But Batman still doesn't want to tell him more than necessary, if even that much.

''Yes, I've noticed the whispers. The Penguin asked me the same question just two nights ago.''

''So the word is spreading.'' He grimaces. ''What did you tell him?''

Batman looks at him, his face expressionless and his voice revealing nothing, it evokes within the commissioner the feeling of talking to a statue.

''Robin has been caught up in other business. What business that is, is none of your concern.''

Jim sighs.

''I know you people like your privacy, and as much as I hope he was off fighting assassins or even at home, drowning in homework, you and I both know that's not the truth.''

Batman's jaw tenses, but he remains silent.

''I just...'' The man looks at his pipe, almost sorrowful. ''I need to know that he's... you know. Alright.''

''You don't need to worry.''

Jim's eyes flash with anger.  
  
''You know what I said before, Batman. If anything happens to that boy, I will hunt you down. The entire GCPD will be after you if --''

''I know, Jim.''

The commissioner sighs, reaches two fingers under the glasses and rubs at his eyes which sting with exhaustion.

''Good. He's... He's just a boy, Batman.''

''He's fine.''

It is a lie, but a lie Gordon needs to hear. Jim gives him a crooked grimace that is supposed to be a smile.

''I know you care about him, Batman, and I know you do all you can to protect him, but... I know he was captured. I saw the report, for god's sake, some of the men escorting the culprits to Blackgate were from my team. I heard them, Batman. I heard them brag about the torture.''

''He's strong, Jim. If anyone can get through this, it's him.''

''I know that, I... '' Jim knows Batman well enough to tell when he isn't telling the truth, or not as much of it as Jim wants to hear. But he has also learned that Batman always has his reasons, and if nothing else, Jim trusts in that. '' I just...''

''As long as the criminals get their appropriate punishment there is nothing more that the police can do. The rest is a family matter.''

Not that there could ever be a punishment severe enough to fit this crime. Batman can think of a million ways to punish them, yet not one would be enough.

Jim takes a deep breath to try and keep his hands still; but he can't fight the thoughts gushing through his head. Images of what could have happened, what he knows did happen, and the horrible insight that this could have been his kids. It’s not actually until now that he really feels the horror of it.

''He always seems so happy with this life.'' Jim mumbles more to himself than to the other. He knows he can't imagine the feelings of the superhero community, and probably Batman least of all, but he understands as a father. It must be similar, in many ways.  
  
''Robin knows the dangers. We all do, just as you and your men do when you do your job. There is always a chance of someone getting hurt.''

''Yes, but he's just a child.''

''Believe me, commissioner, he has matured and experienced more in a childhood than most people go through in a life time. It was his decision and his alone. Even if I were to try and stop him, I wouldn't be able to.''

Batman knows Robin has been sneaking out, has heard about his solo patrol and as much as it angered him at first that the boy opposed direct orders; Batman feels the smallest tremor of hope.  
  
''I hope you're right, Batman. I truly do.''

Batman doesn't answer, merely raises an eyebrow at him under the cowl. Jim notices his pipe has gone out and, as he reaches for more tobacco, not quite calmed yet, not ready to go back inside and into the ocean of violence and hate and sorrow that is his city.

''I suppose this is the part where you do your disappearing act?''

And like he suspected, Batman is already gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Things have been stressful lately, and since Batman is always highest priority, Bruce has little time to do his day related work. Leslie keeps telling him he needs to sleep more or he'll overwork himself into an early grave, but Bruce thinks that sleep can wait until tomorrow - or the day after that, perhaps - and, his routine’s already so integrated within him he's not sure he's even capable of sleeping before dawn anymore. Because of this he decides to get rid of some paperwork when he gets home.

Despite his best efforts, he fails to keep his mind on it, even though it is fairly simple, mundane work. His brain just won't stay concentrated on one paragraph long enough for it to matter. Putting the folder of papers aside, he lets out a sigh and glances around the room. It is spotless, as always, and all the books in his bookcase have been read at least ten times already.

A quick glance to his right makes his eyes fall on the small dresser by the far wall and Bruce's gaze catches a glimpse of the picture frames on top of it.

There is a wedding photo of his parents, photos of him and just his mother, just his father, all three of them together and one of just him and Alfred, wearing party hats. Bruce rarely looks at the photos anymore, doesn't feel like being reminded of those days as much because it brings with it a bitter taste in his mouth.

They are usually hidden behind other ornaments and objects, but every now and then Alfred makes sure they are as visible as possible - Bruce has never asked why but he suspects the older man is trying to tell him something, perhaps saying things he believes is not in his place to verbalize yet feels must be acknowledged - and he finds himself unable to look away from the one most obviously placed.

It's a photo of Dick receiving his mathletes trophy, Bruce by his side with a smaller, yet just as genuine, little smile. Bruce remembers the day still, and how happy the boy had been. How proud he had looked and the way he spoke almost as fast as Wally with excitement - Bruce still had no idea exactly what had been said during the drive home - and for a moment, Bruce feels the same subtle smile spread across his lips.

He's sure Alfred is behind the attention drawing placement of the photo, knows there's something he wants to say with it but Bruce, as is most often the case, can't really figure out what. Even to the world's greatest detective, Alfred Pennyworth's subtle messages are often too subtle.

He doesn't know how long he's been staring at the picture, nor when the darkness started blending into a brighter shade of royal blue; but suddenly there is a knock on the door. It is hesitant and low, the short height of the person tells Bruce the identity of the person behind the door and he is, for some reason, anxious.

''Come in'' he says, voice level. ''Dick? Why aren't you asleep? It's nearly six a.m.''

Dick is in his pajamas and his hair is ruffled as if he's been lying down, but his shirt is stained with sweat and the tense look of panic in his eyes tells Bruce he probably hasn't done much sleeping.

Dick's mouth is a thin line as he shuffles over to the giant bed. He is still disoriented by terror, feeling as if under water, his voice sounds unreal to his own ears.

''I'm...'' Dick reaches out an uncertain hand to touch the covers.

Bruce leans forward slightly.

''Did you have a nightmare?''

Dick sighs. He doesn't even know.

''I...'' then he swallows down the acid in his mouth, nods shakily and sighs again. Drawing a hand across his face, Dick feels like the bed is the only thing keeping him steady. ''Yeah.''

''Have you slept much at all?''

Dick shakes his head. He's still confused, still frightened and he doesn't know, can't tell as the dream is still sharp in his memory and his vision keeps switching between images he can't tell apart from the moment. He wants to curl up somewhere and hide, cry but his eyes are strangely dry and he feels empty - hollow and drained and Dick simply doesn't know. He just knows he has to be with Bruce, seeks out the man in the haze of his frantic mind as it for the time being seems the only logical thing to do.

Bruce makes a subtle frown and pats the bed. It is large enough to fit five people - six, probably, if one really tried - and Dick doesn't make a sound as he climbs onto it. With no words the boy crawls up to the sitting man and curls into a ball at his side. Faintly, Bruce is reminded of when Dick was younger and had nightmares, about his parents, about the sound of breaking bones replaying in his head every single night, when he could still smell their blood and the boy could barely sleep at all.

It had taken a long while - Dick had been nervous, too scared to bother him and it had felt odd to Bruce as well - he wasn't his biological father, their relationship was still awkward and uncertain and it had felt too much like he was taking John Grayson's rightful place at first, but Bruce slowly realized there was no one else, nowhere to go and it was now his role to be the safe spot in the storm.

Eventually Dick had knocked on his door. He stopped having the nightmares, at least as frequently, after a while and since then Dick had never sought him out like this. So Bruce knows it is important, and decides not to mention it as he simply draws the covers from under his legs and pull them over Dick's shoulders.

Dick faintly wonders if he's bothering Bruce, feels embarrassed and guilty because a thirteen year old boy should not act like this. But he's too tired to argue with himself, too tired to care about anything but Bruce being there - being safe and good and calming. The images push into his head and play before his eyes and Dick clutches at Bruce's sleeve because it is the only thing that makes him feel protected.

Bruce says nothing, picks up his paperwork again and acts like everything is normal. As time passes, Bruce's even breathing helps Dick manage his own and eventually he's drifting off to sleep. Part of him struggles against it, in case the dream will be there, waiting for him.

''Bruce'' Dick mumbles into the mattress and feels the other clumsily reach for a pillow. He doesn't object as the man raises his head and places the pillow underneath it.

''Yes?''

''How much time?''

Bruce glances at him, but Dick's eyes are tightly closed.

''Excuse me?''

''How much time 'til work?''

''Oh.'' he glances at the clock, then at his ward. ''I think I'll work from home, today.''

Dick knows Bruce hadn't planned to, originally, but he doesn't care. Not now. Now he just wants him to stay.

''Do you have a lot do to?''

''I'll be here, Dick. Just sleep now.''

Dick sighs, but Bruce can feel him nod.

''M'kay.''

Bruce returns to his paperwork and tries to be as quiet as he can as he scribbles with the ball-point pen. Dick is, however, still struggling to stay awake.

''Bruce''

''Yes, Dick?''

''D'you think I'm silly?''

Bruce sighs, but nonetheless puts the folder away again.

''No, I don't think you're silly. Do _you_ think you're silly?''

''It's just... I'm too old for this.''

''Too old for nightmares?''

Dick doesn't answer. Bruce wants to tell him not to think about it. Wants him to know that he'd always be there, in his own way, and that Dick could never outgrow that. But he doesn't. He simply struggles free from Dick's grip to put his arm around him, and he can feel Dick let out a heavy sigh.

''Just sleep now, Dick.''

''No promises.''

''That's fine.'' Bruce picks up a paper which only needs reading, squeezes Dick's shoulder and hopes that Dick understands. ''Just try.''

''Mm. I'm sorry.''

''Goodnight, Dick.''

''Technically morning.''

'' _Goodnight_ , Dick.''

The boy scoffs into the pillow, but says nothing else, and Bruce returns to the reports as he faintly listens to the boy's slowing breathing. When Dick finally sounds as if he's sleeping, Bruce only barely tightens his grip on his arm. Reassures him that he's still there and that if anything happens, he'll be ready. It's not much, but it's all he can think of.

Bruce can't do more but hope it's enough.


	7. Seven

Dick can't sleep much at all, anymore. He makes many brave attempts but when each nightmare is worse than the other, he realizes he can’t rely on Bruce every time, can't grow dependent on him because that would be _weak_.

After a week or so, Dick stops trying. His insomnia is an intrusive presence, almost physical, but Alfred doesn't comment and Bruce merely suggests meditation. Dick doesn't really care enough about it anymore. He just wants it to end, some peace of mind, and all the rest can go as it may. He's getting tired of struggling.

It's a quiet day at the mansion and Dick has been staring at his cereal for over an hour. He's determined to finish it but his jaws remain immobile even long after breakfast has ended and he has been left to his own devices. The cereal is now a soggy, pasty mess lumped together in the milk and looking less appetizing by the minute. Dick swallows down a sigh, reluctant to eat it but unable to tear his eyes away.

Bruce said five pounds. Dick will not achieve such a number without finishing his breakfast.

But as moments stretch on his determination begins to falter. Dick holds the spoon in a trembling grip and tries to keep his sight on the goal, but no matter how much he has missed patrol and how the ants under his skin have begun to ache down to his bones, not even that is enough. Dick hurls the spoon across the room and enjoys hearing it hit a wall. He sinks into his body with his face in his hands and lets out a badly stifled scream of frustration.

''Master Dick?'' Alfred's voice comes from the doorway and when Dick turns around he expects a scolding, but the man only looks at him curiously. ''You have a visitor.''

Dick frowns. He hasn't talked to anyone in days, and cannot remember making any appointments. The lack of courtesy in the situation makes him immediately suspect Wally. As Dick follows Alfred to the hallway, he is greatly surprised to instead see Artemis, fidgeting nervously in the hallway. She squirms, wary to be in the presence of all these expensive things and Dick can't help but smile inwardly at how misplaced and uncomfortable she looks.

''Loiterer'' he says and her face flushes an instant pink.

''Hi!'' her voice is a little louder than expected and Artemis is quick to glare at the floor. She doesn't even know why she's so nervous to talk to the rich kid in the first place. Sure, maybe her visit is a bit weird but there's nothing wrong with being nice, right? Maybe a little, outside her mask, but it’s not that out of the ordinary.

She takes a deep breath and it is with new vigor she meets the boy's eyes.

''Hey, your friend uh... that redhead girl said you got that stomach bug.''

Dick barely remembers talking to Barbara lately, but perhaps she had called the mansion and been told some lie by Alfred. After all, his absence has been notable and Bruce doesn't want to put J'onn in the school more than necessary. It’s more convenient this way, he said.

''Dick, who is our guest?''

Bruce has emerged from the shadows, as if conjured by thought. Dick only barely suppresses his jolt. Artemis eyes the two warily, but keeps her face brave.

''Hello, Mr. Wayne. I'm --''

''She's from my school'' Dick lies easily, annoyed at the charade as he and Bruce both know very well who Artemis Crock is. But she doesn't know that they know, and if one thing, Bruce taught him to always keep up appearances. ''I told her 'bout my panic disorder.''

Like a well-rehearsed play, Bruce smoothly plays along.  
  
''Bruce is a little paranoid about it, the press and all.''

''Oh, don't worry about me! I won't tell anyone. I mean, it's none of their business.''

''Well, I'm glad that Dick has such a good friend.'' Bruce smiles amiably at her. ''Now you must excuse me, I have some work to do. It was nice meeting you, miss..?''

''Artemis! And yeah. Uh, I mean... Likewise''

Bruce gives them one last look before he walks away. Only after a long, uncomfortable moment does Dick decide to speak.

''So, Artemis... Unusual name.''

''And Dick is better?''

''It's Richard, actually.'' He gives her a pointed look. ''Listen, I don't mean to be rude or anything but did you want something?''

''As a matter of fact, I do'' Artemis gives him a quick glare before digging into her bag. Shortly after she retrieves a stack of papers. Dick takes it tentatively.

''What's this?''

''Just some stuff you missed in school.''

Dick can only manage to look at her in bewilderment.

''Why would you..? Did you..?''

‘’Well’’ Artemis splutters likes she’s swallowed something foul. ’’Yeah, you know''

Actually, Dick doesn't know. But he's still too confused, too awed by her to really say much about it. Instead he settles for the only word that feels appropriate.

''Thanks.''

''Don't mention it'' Her face darkens. ''Seriously. Don't.''

Dick snorts.

''It'll be our secret.''

Artemis smiles now, softly, a big sister kind of smile. Then she remembers where she is and who she's talking to and that they don't know each other; she really has no reason for being so nice to a bratty little rich kid, but at the moment she can't say it feels bad.

''I'm gonna g --''

''Dick?'' Bruce pops out of nowhere again in a way that strikes her as eerily familiar. ‘'I have to head out for a bit.''

''Business?'' Dick's tone is subtle but Bruce picks it up without delay.

''Just a last minute meeting. Nothing too abnormal.''

Dick understands the hidden information and his heart rises a little; despite his lacking enthusiasm and diminishing energy he's glad Bruce isn't heading out on anything Bat-related without him. Not in front of his face like this, anyway. It's easier, somehow, when he does it at night and Dick is locked in his room pretending the world outside doesn’t exist.

''Again, very nice seeing you, Artemis. Dick, tell Alfred to make lunch for one; I think I'll be occupied for most of the day.''

He gives the two a nod and is gone before Dick has time to answer.

Artemis stares at the door as a weak attempt to ignore the awkward silence, her skin crawling as her mind is trying fervently to come up with something to say. Not that it would have mattered, had she said anything, for Dick is deep in thought.

''Has master Bruce left so abruptly?'' Alfred jars them out of their stupor.

''Yeah’’ Dick says. ‘’He told me to tell you not to bother with lunch.''

Alfred's forehead creases momentarily but just as quickly, his lips quirk into a subtle smile.

''Oh, that is just too unfortunate, master Dick. I already made a meal for two...'' he shakes his head as Dick merely shrugs in disinterest. Not until it's too late does he realize where the butler is heading. ''I suppose the young miss will have to join us to amend this''

Artemis and Dick both turn to stare at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, but only one of them bursts out in undignified shock.

''What?!'' as her outburst echoes through the hallway, Artemis' eyes turn towards the ceiling. ''I uhm... I just mean that uh... I couldn't impose like that! It's a nice offer, though!''

''Nonsense, miss Artemis. It would be a terrible waste of good food not to invite you. Please, I insist.''

Artemis stares at him, then at Dick who has chosen not to participate at all in any of this and is instead fiddling with his sweater.

''I... I guess it'd be rude to decline...'' she laughs nervously. ''Alright, sure. I'd love to stay for lunch, sir.''

Alfred looks warmly at her, yet there is a peculiar glint to his eyes she doesn't particularly care for.

''Splendid! I'll go set the table. Master Dick, I assumed you were not too fond of your breakfast cereal so I disposed of it. I hope that's alright?''

Dick blinks as if sleeping.

''Hm? Oh. Yeah. That.'' he sighs. ''Yeah, it's fine, Alfie.''

''Miss Artemis --''

''Just Artemis, is fine'' she interjects but is politely ignored.

''Miss Artemis, I do hope you like lamb''

''Sure… Lamb's great'' Artemis doesn't really know because she never tasted lamb, but she knows enough manners not to complain about free food.

''Very well, then'' Alfred gives a little nod before he promptly disappears into the mansion.

After a solid minute of complete silence, Artemis decides she has to be the one to break it.

''So, uhm... you need any help with that homework?''

 

* * *

 

It ends up the other way around and instead of Artemis helping Dick with his assignments, Dick starts to help her with math. She's not bad at it, not that Dick expected her to be; she just needs some clearer directions on some problems and though at first embarrassed to have help from a freshman, they soon ease out of their tension and with the hours it starts to feel more like being back on the team again. It leaves Dick with a hard lump in his throat but at the same time it feels pleasant, in a nostalgic sort of way.

Dick's bones are rusty and his skin is as if dry with dust. It's been roughly two months but has felt more like he hasn't been in his costume for years. And it hurts, a little, because when not being Robin he's missing an integral part of his being. But Dick doesn't feel ready yet. Every fiber of his body is aching to get out on the roof tops, but it's Robin who's aching; Dick Grayson just wants to crawl inside a wall and hide.

His hands shake a lot after the first two hours but Artemis pretends not to notice -- it seems as though he doesn't. He drops the pencil once or twice, smiles nervously and time and time again she is overcome with the feeling of familiarity. Like she knows this kid, somehow. But they've barely spoken or seen each other in school so she chalks it up to his famous face.

Though something tells her there's more to it than that, like that day in the bathroom, only more intense. The way he sits and the way he moves, the half-hearted smile which reminds her of a powerful smirk she's seen somewhere in what feels like much too long ago. Like she knows him, but at the same time not at all.

Dick distracts her discomforted thoughts with explanations of equations, with numbers and formulas and strange things way too advanced for his level. He tells her of the mathletes and the trophy, of his love of math and somehow, after the third hour, their conversation has dived into movies and which teacher has the ugliest haircut; about a certain annoying redhead Artemis knows who keeps hitting on all the girls, and Dick has a hard time suppressing his grin at the thought of Wally being Wally.

''So, Dick...'' Artemis says after a while and he looks at her curiously. ''Do people make fun of you a lot?''

Dick frowns.

''What's that supposed to mean?''

''Well, you know just... you're short, you're from the circus, you're adopted, your nickname is Dick...''

Dick rolls his eyes and throws the pen at her. She gives him a tiny smirk and catches it mid air.

''I'm not that short.''

''Right.''

''And Dick's a perfectly normal nickname!''

''Yeah, in the 50's.''

He gives her a narrow glare and snatches the pen back with a huff.

''Well, they don't. Okay, maybe Babs teases me a bit but you know, all in good fun. I guess some people don't like that I'm 13 and already in advanced classes and... some see me as a charity case, I guess''

''Yeah, I know what you mean about the charity thing...'' she gives him a crooked smile. ''I got into Gotham Academy via the Wayne Foundation, as I guess you know. But you know, wherever you go there's a douchebag, I guess. Bette's nice, though.''

Dick sees an incorrect solution Artemis has jotted down on the paper and corrects it absentmindedly as he speaks.

''Gotham Academy's pretty relaxed if you know which people to hang around.''

''Right...'' she fiddles innocently with an eraser, but puts little effort into it. ''So who's this redhead chick? Babs?''

''Oh, Barbara? She's the commissioner's daughter.'' Dick smiles fondly. ''Yeah, she's great.''

Artemis looks awfully smug for some reason.

''You got a little crush on her, circus boy?''

Dick rolls his eyes but can't completely fight his blush.

''No! Or. Well.''

''Well?''

''I _used_ to. I guess. When we first met. But you know, she's amazing but...''

''But you're over it? Right''

Dick gives her a half-hearted glare.

''Uh huh. How about your redhead?''

''What, Mr. Ladies' Man?'' Artemis looks appalled, nearly nauseated at the mere thought. Dick has to try really hard not to look too amused. ''God, no. I mean, he's a good guy underneath all that... obnoxious, unbearable, insufferable, intolerable --''

''Love begins with war, you know.''

For some reason he can't stop himself from smiling, about what he doesn't know.

''It does not.'' She looks at him again with that same face that has him unsettled, the one that feels like it's staring right through his skin. ''Hey, Dick?''

''Yeah?'' He holds onto the table for a moment to steady himself. The blood rushing through his ears is so loud it muffles Artemis' voice. ''Sorry?''

''I said: I have this strange... idea that I know you.''

Dick has to try with all his willpower to suppress the odd twitch that tries to force its way through his limbs. With a strange twist to his features he fakes a smirk.

''Well, I _am_ Dick Grayson.''

Artemis scoffs.

''Hubris, have we?''

He shrugs.

''Maybe you saw me on TV''

''Yeah.'' Artemis says and leans back into the chair. ''Maybe.''

They both know she's not entirely convinced.

''It’s just…’’ she says thoughtfully. ‘’It's been bothering me ever since we met in the bathroom.''

Maybe letting someone know wouldn't be so bad -- maybe it wouldn't be so difficult, everything. Maybe it wouldn't be so lonely and threatening but deep down he knows it's a terrible idea. Bruce will kill him and Dick knows it's pointless, anyway. Artemis can't do anything that Wally or Clark or any of the others can't. Not even Dick knows what to do with himself and he knows it's selfish because it's his fight and he has so many people dragged into it already; it's unfair to put his burden on someone else.

He needs to be strong but, more than anything, he has to do it on his own.

Artemis gives him a look he can't quite interpret, but it unsettles him and his throat is awfully tight for some reason.

''What?''

''Nothing'' she says, but the tone in her voice indicates there is indeed something on her mind. Though Dick doesn't particularly want to know, not that he has time to find out, anyway, as there is a knock on the door.

''Yes?''

''Master Dick, lunch is ready.''

 

* * *

 

 

  
Lunch is more fun than it's been in a long time. Dick is used to eating alone since Bruce is rarely home enough for the two to meet. They always used to have patrol to bring them together but the absence of heroism has left that bridge closed. Bruce has been hovering around the house a bit more than usual since Dick's school attendance took a turn for the worse, but it is rarely noticeable as he doesn't make much noise about it. He's around, but not really present. Dick supposes it is Bruce's way of being supportive, a silent hand of help reached out until he feels like taking it.

So it's nice for a change to have some real company, other than Alfred and the ticking of the grandfather clock. Artemis loosens up after a while and starts talking, testing the waters at first with common small talk. Dick is of few words and stubborn in his silence as he's preoccupied with staring at his food; Artemis watches the cold sweat form on his forehead and the way his hands clench and release around the table cloth.

''Stomach troubles?''

Dick looks at her in slight panic for a moment.

''The stomach bug?'' she says, frowning.

''Oh!'' he averts his eyes. ''Yeah. Yeah, it's uhm... I'm still kind of... yeah.''

In the corner of his eyes he can see her raise a brow, suspiciously, and Dick knows he's getting sloppy. He tries feebly to regain control of his face and posture, tries to get his voice in order and look a hundred times calmer than he feels. But his heart is crawling up his ribcage and it's getting sequentially harder to keep the charade going. The smell of the lamb is rich and powerful and for the moment it is all that fills his mind. Nothing exists outside of the juicy meat and steaming vegetables; the thick gravy and the colorful potatoes. He takes a sip of water but regrets it as his stomach immediately twists.

''My mom taught me this technique once'' Artemis blurts out without really intending to, and though at first she’s embarrassed, she’s later glad for it as it seems to work. ''You know, like, to keep your mind busy.''

''Oh?''

''Yeah, it's a type of behavioral therapy thing. You do this kind of...'' Artemis feels stupid. ''This is sounding really lame.''

''Go on, Dr. Artemis. Teach me your wisdom.'' He smirks dully. ''I guess maybe lamb is a bit heavy right now. Honestly, I haven't been able to keep much down lately.''

''You should see someone about that.''

Dick shrugs.

''It'll pass. I just have to... get over the nausea.''

''You can at least eat the potatoes, though. Those are good. They clean the system.''

''Ew.''

Artemis gives him a heated glare.

''You need to get back to school soon.''

''I know.''

''So quit being such a baby and get to work!''

Dick glares but Artemis' glare is much stronger, more powerful but for a tiny moment there Dick almost looks like Batman. It sends a tiny shiver of recognition down her spine; that same familiarity that she still can't place and it's enough to make her stab her own lamb in frustration.

''So, the technique'' Dick draws her attention back to him. ''How does it work?''

''Well'' Artemis straightens and puts her hands up as if to visualize the technique, her face twisted in concentration. ''When the nausea comes, you try to refocus. Take a bite now and I'll show you.''

Dick eyes her suspiciously, but slowly does as she says. With a piece of potato limply in his mouth, he gives her a pointed look.

''I'm waiting''

''Don't talk with food in your mouth'' Dick opens his mouth to protest but is silenced by the wave of her hand. ''Shush! Now chew the food and swallow. You know how to do that, right?'' He glares. ''Now, you see the table?''  
He looks at her like she's an idiot. Artemis’ glare only intensifies until Dick eventually nods. He has half a mind where she's going with it all, Batman has taught him most everything useful in the field of psychology, but Artemis looks less nervous the more control she gets to have over their conversation, so he figures he'll give her that one thing for now. It feels good not to have to think so much, for once, and let someone else set the course.

''What texture is it? No, don't talk'' she shakes her head to interrupt him. ''Touch it. Run your fingers over it.''

Dick obeys.

''Good. Focus on what it feels like, how many lines are in the wood. What type of tree is it? What does it smell like? What exact color is it?''

''Technically it's a shade.''

''What?''

''It's a shade, not a color.''

Her sigh tells him there are a million ways she could think of killing him, but she lets him live just so she can glare a bit more.

''Well, what kind of shade?''

Dick gives the table a long, scrutinizing look. He frowns.

''You know, I've always thought it was kind of a coffee shade of brown. Like ground coffee, not the drinkable version. But now...'' his frown deepens. ''It looks more caramel. Huh.''

''Good, good'' she nods encouragingly. ''And the smell?''

Dick squints.

''It's stingy but... musky. You know. Table-ish.''

''Table-ish. Remarkable vocabulary there, kid.''

Dick glares at her.

''Why am I smelling a stupid table, anyway?''

Artemis, for some unimaginable reason, smiles. Smugly.

''Are you still nauseated?''

Dick’s eyes widen.

''You know...'' he looks at his stomach as if the nausea could at least be visible, even if it isn't obvious to his other senses. But he feels fine. Normal, even. ''I'm not.''

Her smile widens into a proud grin.

''See. Dialectal behavioral therapy at work.''

''Huh.'' Dick shrugs. ''Well, what do you know, it worked.''

''Now let's try it again.''

''Sorry?''

Artemis claps her hands like one would do at a working horse, and Dick is too confused to feel insulted.

''Third bite, Grayson! Get at it!''

''But --''

''That food won't eat itself, mister.'' Dick opens his mouth to make another futile attempt at resistance. ''I hope you're opening that mouth to put food in it!''

The boy finally gives up and with a tiny roll of his eyes, takes another bite.

For some strange reason the sight of Dick eating fills her with glee. She can't get over the sibling like feeling that she should care for him. She watches him eat in silence for a while, and can't help but smirk slightly when he goes on to inspect the texture of his chair or the insignia on his fork. She eats of her own food while she watches him -- the meal is delicious beyond words -- and after a half hour of the boy being completely immersed in the mystery of inanimate objects, Artemis gets that same strange feeling again.

''Artemis?''

''Yeah?''

''I'm... tired.''

Her eyes widen in an instant.

''Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, right, you're ill! It was dumb of me to be here so long and I... should go. You need to rest.''

''No, no, don't apologize'' He tries to smile but his face feels tight. ''It was... nice. With some company.''

''Mr. Wayne isn't home a lot, is he?''

''No. He's not.''

''Sucks.''

Dick doesn't answer and there's that awkward silence again. It grows so heavy as to force her out of her seat. Dick is quick to get up as well and after a bit of more awkward staring, he guides her to the hallway in silence. All the while Artemis can't stop glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

''I'm sorry'' she says suddenly.

''No, no, don't be. I... thanks. For the homework and everything. You didn't have to do that.''

''Well, you know...''

He picks up on a subtle change in her voice, and though unable to determine the reason for it, he gets the strong urge to flee. Dick clears his throat and makes a tiny motion with his hand to signal his departure.

''Wait here while I'll go ask Alfie to get the limo''

''What?'' her eyes widen in slight horror. ''No! I can't -- I -- No, no, I'll take the bus!''

He gives her a deadpan stare.

''The nearest bus stop is several miles away.''

''Well, it got me here so it might as well get me home.''

''Out of the question. You're going in a limo.''

''But --''

''I said limo!''

Artemis wants to protest because really, she's been too much of a bother already but Dick is gone before she even gets a word out. In the tense solitude, an itch spreads across her skin as feelings stir underneath. She absentmindedly draws her nails across her arm, staring down the looming walls.  
  
The air is getting thick and suffocating and Artemis just wants to go home. She feels drained all of a sudden and it's strange, because she was having a good time, a great time, but now she feels like she just fought a hundred times on two hours of sleep.

‘’Miss Artemis, are you quite ready to go?''

The butler has appeared out of thin air as per usual but Artemis manages to suppress her surprise this time. She gives him a polite smile as he hands her jacket to her.

''It really isn't necessary! I can take the bus!''

''That is out of the question, miss Artemis. The bus, in Gotham? No, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let a young woman travel by such means? On her own, nonetheless. No, I'm afraid you will have to withstand my company for quite a few more minutes.''

''I guess there's no point arguing with you'' She gives him a faint smile and buttons the jacket. ''Well, thanks, anyway. I really appreciate it and I'll pay you for the gas. Promise''

Alfred just raises a brow at her.

''Miss Artemis, please, that will not be necessary. Now stop excusing yourself, young lady. You are a guest at this house and you will be treated as such. I trust the young master has been well-behaved?''

''Come on, Alfie, don't make me look bad in front of the ladies'' Dick pops out from the shadows in a way that’s getting way too familiar.

''Not at all, master Dick. I trust you to be fully capable of that on your own''

''Hey!''

Alfred gives him a sly smile.

''I only jest, master Dick. Now, can I trust you not to burn the house down while I'm away?''

''You'll find out''

''That's the spirit, master Dick. Miss Artemis, shall we?''

Alfred holds the door open for her like a true gentleman as she steps into her shoes and begins to move.

''Uhm, sure'' before she walks out of the manor she turns to give Dick a wave. ''Get well, circus boy''

''I'll try.''

''You do that. Hope I didn't exhaust you too much.''

''No'' Dick smiles thinly. ''No, it's been very... _hausting_.''

For a moment Artemis doesn't know what to say. She barely notices that Alfred starts walking until the door almost closes on her. Dick catches it nimbly. She looks at the hand holding the door, then back at him again, and suddenly everything makes sense.

''Well, see you around, I guess.'' he says.

''Yeah...'' she swallows down the lump growing in her throat. ''See you around''

When Dick closes the door behind her Artemis leaves with the sudden, inexplicable urge to cry.


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically I have about 30 ish ?? more chapters already written from before, i'm slowly working my way through them which is why updates are a bit topsy turvy

  
Dick spends at least twenty minutes hyperventilating outside the school gates before he finally works up the courage to enter. He knew he would have to go back eventually, and the days that passed after Artemis' visit got him thinking.

Dick hasn't thrown up as much lately and a small little thing like succeeding with dinner makes him feel unusually motivated; like it’s one step forward, one he’s needed, on that makes him want to take one more.

Standing in front of the gates though, he's not as certain anymore. The accomplishment he felt after dinner now instead turns into disappointment as efforts take on the look of failures. Though Dick needs to be brave, all he feels is weak and dumb. It’s just normal, everyday things, things that everybody does, but he can't even get them right.

It all seems so effortless to them, so why does he struggle?

Dick bites his cheek and enters. The sound of students tackles him at first, renders him immobilized as they swarm about the yard. But little by little, Dick regains control of his muscles and forces them to move.

Each step is more exhausting than the other, but he refuses to give up. He's tired, terrified and so close to the edge he feels any wrong move will push him off, but he's here. He's moving. He's almost like a normal person and Dick knows he has to carry on.

 

* * *

 

 

The teachers are happy to have him back and though some give him worried glances, his thinness seems enough validation for his alleged ailments and the matter is not discussed. Instead the world around him goes on, like it always does. Even if he can’t concentrate in class and his mind ends up drifting, it feels good to be back. The less he saw of the outside world, the more he forgot how it’s like to be in it.

To feel a tiny touch of normalcy; despite having to hold on to his bench to keep from shaking too much and the inability to keep himself from throwing glances at the people around him, at least he feels like he's made an effort. That has to be enough, he thinks.

But it only lasts for so long when before his third class, Dick can no longer keep himself in one piece. He manages to stealth his way through the corridors well enough to pass through unnoticed and like a phantom he finds himself away from it all up on the roof. He takes long, deep breaths to calm himself as he gazes at the city before him.

The view isn't good as Gotham is a tall lady and Gotham Academy is relatively modest in size; large towers shield the sky and the yard isn't much to look at, but it helps to watch the people stroll around and listen to the breathing, humming living of the city. He's missed his city.

He's missed watching it from atop, missed the way it lulls him into a warm sense of security, of belonging. Gotham is a lot of things, many of them bad, but one thing it's never failed to be is a home.

Dick sighs and puts his hand on his upper arm to see if it's gotten any bigger. He thinks it might have, maybe, but can't be too sure. But he hopes.

''This a private moment?''

Dick almost falls off the roof as the surprise shocks his body; he hasn't gotten used to being so unaware of his surroundings yet. Batman taught him to always know everything around him, it's been years since anything surprised Dick. Especially with Wally he can always hear him coming before anyone else, he knows the certain gait of everyone, can hear who it is by the steps and the breathing and Dick always knows. It makes something awful stir within him as he realizes more and more that he's losing touch.

''Wally?''

''Hey, there, hotpants'' Wally waves double finger guns at him. ''Knew I'd find you here.''

''What are you doing?'' Dick whips his head around so fast it hurts. Then with wide, angry eyes he crouches down and motions violently for Wally to do the same.

''Dude. It's a roof. Who's gonna look up and see us?''

''Get down!''

Wally rolls his eyes but nevertheless crouches down. It's only now that Dick fully takes in his friend's appearance and sees the bright, gasoline like color of his sunglasses and the bright orange hood pulled over his head. In Wally's world that attire might be considered discreet, but Dick knows better.

''What are you wearing? What are... why are you here?!'' Dick’s whisper is laced with panic. ''Did Alfred make you do this?''

''Well'' Wally shrugs. ''Since you're ignoring my phone calls, I have no choice but to harass you here.''

''I can't be seen with you!''

''Dude, I'm undercover, okay? By the way'' he lowers the shades enough to give Dick a shrewd look. ''I look waaay better in shades than you do.''

Dick glares.

''This is truly the dumbest thing you have ever done.''

''Hey! Relax, man, I --''

''I will not relax until you go away! What if someone sees you?''

''Dude, will you stop whispering?''

''Does You-Know-Who know you're here?'' Wally opens his mouth but Dick isn't nearly finished. ''Of course he knows. He knows everything. Damn it, he's going to have my head for this! You are so stupid!''

Wally waves his hands in an attempt to calm the boy down.

''Dick, it's fine. No one will see us.''

''I have school! Maybe skipping school works for you but I have classes to attend!''

''Honestly, you can't be too keen on being here if you're hiding on the roof.''

Dick doesn't reply.

''Dude. This has got to stop. I feel like I've seen more of your door lately than I've seen you.''

''Maybe I'm busy.''

''You've never been too busy to see me.''

Wally tries not to sound as disappointed as he feels, but it's hard. Dick is getting tired. Worn down, even. Like an old man in a young body, Dick speaks and moves as if he's a thousand years old. It worries him. Wally's been respectful and instead of sending him a hundred messages every day about how bored he is and how they should hang out, he has settled for ten, but enough is enough.

''Hey, boy blunder?''

Dick makes a face but it's only half-hearted.

''Kid Mouth.''

The two look at each other in tense silence for a moment.

''Dude. C'mon.''

''What do you want?''

''I want to see you! What the hell did you think I wanted?''

''To check if I still have a pulse?''

Wally’s gut is gripped by an unforgiving coldness.

''Dick. Seriously. Don't talk like that.''

But Dick doesn't look at him and moments pass without anyone saying anything. Wally searches for the right words and the right actions, but comes up with nothing. He knows he has to do something, because everything is getting out of hand and Wally West was never one to stand by and idly watch. With a small sigh he gets up and tries to catch Dick’s gaze.

''Dude, I'm getting concerned, about you.''

''I'm fine.''

''Well, that's weird, because you look like shit.''

Dick doesn't even bother to glare directly at his friend. But he stands up, anyway, which has to count for something. Their height difference still amuses him, though fondly now. The two say nothing and he has no real idea of how long they're actually standing there, staring at each other but it's long enough to make Wally's muscles ache.

''Dick. Dick. Hey. Hey, Dick. Wonder pants. Egghead. Birdbrain. Sideshow freak. Dick. Dick. Hey. Dick.''

'' _What_?''

Wally gives him a dumb little smile.

''You wanna get outta here?''

 

* * *

 

 

Dick doesn't think much more about Artemis, his mind is much too busy thinking about Wally. Exactly what his thoughts are about he can’t say, but it's blurry and confused and a little bit messed up. The more time the two spend together the stranger Dick feels, like a warm but good kind of nausea. After a while they forget all about time and place and simply focus on the moment. When Wally finally checks his watch he notices they've been outside for hours.

But as much as it’s enjoyable, it’s also exhausting and little by little Dick starts getting more unresponsive. Not that he was the most talkative before, but eventually he barely responds at all. Despite this, he invites Wally over. He has half a thought not to, but with him there being his usual, energetic self - his presence both draining and soothing - Dick realizes how much he's really missed him. Wally doesn't say anything about the stark shift in Dick's behavior at first because the boy has also been terribly moody, but at the end of the day he can't help but pry.

''Hey, dude. You alright? You've been kind of weird since we left the park.''

Dick looks up from the sandwich Alfred made him and fidgets on the little barstool.

''Yeah. I think so.'' He takes a nibble to get an excuse not to keep on talking. Dick’s always been bad at fooling Wally. Usually because he doesn’t really want to be dishonest with him, and these days Wally sees through him like wet paper.

''You know they miss you.''

''Who does?''

''Everyone, Dick. M'gann, Conner, Kaldur. Hell, I think even Red Tornado misses you.''

Dick snorts.

''The android misses me. That's nice.''

Wally doesn't know how to reply to that; Dick is throwing him a lot of curveballs and his answers are uncharacteristically curt. Wally leans his head against his palm and gives the boy an investigative look.

''I ran into Roy the other day.'' Wally says casually, but Dick doesn't look very bothered.

''How is he?''

''A royal pain, as usual.''

Dick nods sagely.

''All is well in the kingdom''

Wally rolls his eyes.  
  
''They want you back, Dick. I want you back.''

Blue eyes glare at the table.

''Well, you'll have to take that up with Kaldur.''

''I have talked to him.''

Dick meets his eyes for the first time in several minutes.

''You have?''

''Uh huh'' He nods enthusiastically. ''He feels bad about it. Like, really, really bad. Kaldur-bad. That guy's got way too much self-blame''

Dick takes another bite and huffs.

''Batman says I can go on patrol if I gain weight.''

''Oh yeah?'' Wally's face instantly lights up. ''How much?''

''Five pounds.''

''That's great! You know, I bet if Batman lets you back on it will convince Kal it's the right thing. He's just worried, but if Batman says it's okay...''

Dick drops the sandwich loudly on the plate, looking incredibly annoyed. He rubs his fingers between his eyes as a sudden ache has formed in his head.

''Wally, I'm not made of glass.''

''I know you're not.''

''So why do you keep talking about me like I am?''

''I didn't mean to! I just -- ''

''I'm so sick and tired of this! It's like -- It's like everyone expects me to drop dead on my feet any minute! I feel like I’m in a cage''

‘'Dude, dude, I know. I understand. Hell, I know nothing good comes from you being locked up, which is why I've been trying so hard to get you to go outside but you just keep ignoring me --''

Dick slams his hand down on the table and the motion jars a salt and pepper shaker, moving everything a tiny bit to the left. Wally gives him a wide eyed stare, glances insecurely at the hand as if he half expects it to slap him.

''Dick, what the hell?''

''Maybe I don't feel like hanging out with anyone! Did you think about that? Maybe I'm tired! Maybe I'm exhausted, maybe spending my limited energy with other people is the last thing I think I need?''

''To be fair, Dick, you never were good at telling what you need.''

''What is that supposed to mean?''

''It means you're one of the most self-destructive people I know! I've seen you depressed, Dick, and I've seen what it does to you. This is worse. Is it so weird I get concerned?''

''Is it so weird I get frustrated? I feel like everyone is suffocating me!''

''Dude, it shows that we care. Why can't you see that? I care, Batman, the team, hell, the entire Justice League cares about you! But you're too much of a stubborn ass to see that so you just push us all away and you won't let us help you --''

''For crying out loud!'' Dick is on his feet and pacing around the kitchen, his body tense and trembling. Wally watches him with careful eyes. ''We've been over this a thousand times! I don't need help!''

''Dude! How can you not see this?! You're benched! You, the perfect, flawless wonder boy, are benched not only by your crazy mentor, but your calm and collected team leader as well! You don't go to school, you don't answer my calls, you don't eat and from the looks of you, you don't sleep either -- like, abnormally little even for you -- I know you're stubborn Dick but this is ridiculous!''

Dick grasps his head and tries to keep his infuriated scream at bay, his teeth clenched and jaws so tightly shut it hurts. Dick looks at the walls, the floor and ceiling and counts the cracks, tries to calm down, tries to see what color and texture the wall has but he's just so angry and Dick can't let that anger go, can't stop it from scorching through him like hot iron and all he wants to do is destroy something.

''What the hell do I have to do to finally prove myself?!''

''What?! Are you insane? You don't have to prove anything!''

''Apparently I do! Everyone is still treating me like a kid --''

''You are a kid!''

''Yeah ,well, I'm a kid who's been beating criminals since I was nine, I can take care of myself! I'm so sick of everyone treating me like I can't, like I'm still not good enough no matter how hard I try, it's just never enough for anyone! What do I have to do, Wally?! Tell me what the hell I have to do to make you realize that!''

Dick is breathing so heavily he barely keeps up with himself, fists clenching and unclenching and looking ready to pounce; Wally is kind of glad they have the entire bar section between them because he's not entirely sure Dick won't try to punch him.

''Do you think it's easy for me to watch my best friend be an idiot?'' Wally’s voice rises slowly, sharp and hard against is throat. His own anger swells with surprising power. ''You act like this is only hard on you, Dick, but it's not! It's hard on everyone! You're not the only victim, here!''

''I'm not a victim!''

''Yes, you are, Dick! You've been tortured and traumatized and it's okay, Dick, it's _okay_ if that hurts! It's supposed to hurt! Hell, I'd be scared if it didn't! But you need to stop being in such denial about it because it's eating you, and everyone can see that except you!''

''Oh, I'm so sorry for being a little stressed about it! I didn't know I was such a burden! Had I known it was such a bother and pain to have me around I wouldn't have tried so hard!''

Wally's chest is tight and raw with sudden pain, a pain that spreads through every nerve, every cell of his body and rattles him. Dick glares at Wally with such betrayal, such hurt his eyes look like they could flatten buildings.

But the speedster's own anger is too fresh, too strong for him to back down now. Wally's been watching this for too long, been listening to the sound of his best friend breaking and it's starting to spill over.

He hates being this helpless.

''You know that's not what I meant!''

''It sure sounds like it! But you know what, Wally? I can take care of myself!''

''Yes, Dick, you can, but you're not you! You're... Dick, can't you... Why can't you see how you're acting? This isn't you, man, this...''

Wally sighs and draws a tired hand across his face.

''Do you think it's easy for me to do this?'' Wally's voice is soft, deflated and thin as he looks at his friend. Dick doesn't understand why he sounds so sad.

The youngest doesn't answer, just rubs his arm with the sullen look of a reprimanded school boy. He doesn't feel much like looking at Wally, he's still tight with anger, hot and burning as it stretches like a vacuum in his chest.

He doesn't want to listen to him, doesn't want to listen to anyone. Right now he just wants to be angry. He's been sad for so long he needs to take a break, he needs to regain his strength and it's easier being furious. It’s easier being full of hate instead of fear, to destroy what is broken than to build it all up again.

''Do you think it's easy for me?''

Wally frowns.

''No, I don't, Dick. Which is why you need help. There's only so much we can do but you need a professional, man. This is way out of control.''

''Who says you have to do anything?'' Dick directs his eyes at his friend and they're cold and hard and merciless. Dick's not sure but he thinks he can see his friend flinch. ''Who says I want you to do anything?''

Wally bites his lip to keep from saying something he'll regret. But he's getting tired of watching his tongue all the time, because he knows Dick doesn't need him to be gentle; Dick needs to hear the truth. Wally's just not convinced he'll listen.

''Dick, I don't want to fight with you'' Wally tries to sound calm, tries to look gentle but Dick can't see past his rage.

''So don't! Seriously, why do you have to bring this up every damn time we hang out? Maybe this is why I've been reluctant to meet you, because you can't just let it go! You can't just let it be normal!''

Wally feels the last shred of patience slip away. He stands up violently, pushing the bar stool back so it slams into the counters behind him, and snarls.

''Would you just for one second listen to me?! You're not normal, Dick! None of this is!'' Wally spreads his arms out and gestures violently, the rage now much too large to be contained in his voice alone. ''You're not normal! This situation isn't normal! I don't even feel normal anymore, Dick! I - I can't sleep, I can't relax because all I can do is worry about you! Worry that you'll push yourself too far, that this is that one thing you can't come back from. I'm -- I'm scared, Dick, okay?''

Wally pulls his fingers through his hair and pinches at the back of his neck to calm himself but it's no use. It's gone too far now.

''I'm _terrified_ I'm gonna lose my best friend. Everyone is terrified, Dick. This is... This is so bad it's... The only one who doesn't seem worried enough about this is you! You don't even seem to care about any of it!''

''I'm too tired to care!'' Dick spins on his feet and kicks at a nearby wall, causing a small dent but he's too upset to even worry about what Alfred will say about it later. ''I'm tired of feeling like this, tired of fighting because I don't know what's wrong -- nothing is wrong and I...'' Dick covers his face and screams. ''I don't know what to do, Wally, I don't _know_ what to do!''

Wally gives him a look that's nothing short of wounded.

''You could start by letting us do something. You could... you could talk to J'onn or... Canary or anyone, Dick. Just... I know you feel like you have to do everything on your own because that's what Batman taught you, I know you want to appear strong and mature but it's... This is different, Dick. You don't have to do this on your own. You can't. No one blames you or thinks any less of you if you don't feel strong enough to do this. But that's... We want to help you through it, Dick. Nothing else. We're just doing what we do because we care.''

Dick shakes his head.

''No. No, this... This isn't... This is _nothing_ , Wally.'' then his voice lowers to a point where it gets almost impossible to hear, like he has to fight with every syllable. ''It's nothing. It has to be.''

Wally takes a step forward -- because he wants to get close to him, needs to get close to him, because Wally fears he's slipping away. Wally fears something is tearing between them and Wally just needs to be close to him again -- but he can't push, Wally knows he can't push, but it's so hard to stay away.

''Dick...''

The younger boy glances at him, but refuses to turn his eyes to him fully. Wally stretches out a hand tentatively but Dick only backs away from him.

''I can't... I can't do this, Dick.'' Wally shakes his head and turns, Dick feels his breath hitch as it looks like Wally’s about to leave. ''I can't watch you do this to yourself.''

Dick wants to say something that will make it all better again. He wants to reach out a hand and grab his shoulder, make him stay and never ever go away again. Dick doesn't want to be alone -- not this time, not like this -- and he wants to make everything okay again but he doesn't know how.

''Wally --'' Dick's voice comes through his throat with the ease of sand.

Wally won't listen, won't even look at him as he heads for the door.

''When you feel like coming to your senses, you're free to call me.''

''Wally''

Wally casts a glance over his shoulder, opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t. With steps that are just slightly faster than normal, the older boy leaves.

''Fine!'' Dick shouts, his voice shaking, anger rising with the hurt. He doesn't even know what he wants to shout, just that he has to shout something, anything that will hurt at least half as much as he does. ''I don't care! You hear me, Wally?!''

Wally's only response is to slam the door. All Dick can hear for the next few minutes is how its hollow sound echoes hard and cruel against the walls.

  
  


* * *

 

 

 

''Iris?'' Barry sticks his head out from behind the refrigerator door as he hears the front door open.

Wally throws his shoes off forcefully, not caring about the dirt splattering everywhere.

''I take it you're not here to visit your dear mentor?''

''I'm so sick of this!''

With a knowing, tilted smile the older speedster closes the fridge. A cheesecake in one hand, he grabs some plates with his other and nods towards the table.

''Uh huh. Sit down, kid.''

''I could just punch him sometimes!''

Wally crumples into an orange heap on one of the kitchen chairs as his mentor places some cake before him. He doesn't bother to comment when the teenager pushes his plate away and draws the entire dessert into his grasp; merely watches him carefully in case the kid chokes. Iris would not like that one bit.

''He's such a stubborn ass--'' Barry gives him a meaning look. ''-- idiot!''

''I see'' Barry nods understandingly, though honestly he doesn't understand a word the kid is saying. Even with his powers, the cake muffles most of the words into incomprehensible nonsense. The older speedster sighs and takes a bite of his own cheesecake before Wally has a chance to steal it. ''You gotta slow down and take it from the beginning, kid. What happened?''

''I go to his school to do something nice! You know me, I'm a nice guy, right?''

''I guess -- ''

''And I even bother to hide my identity with these wicked glasses but that's not good enough, nooooo! No, mr. Dark glasses is still paranoid as a freaking Bat -- I tell you, uncle Barry, that kid had issues even before all this -- and you know, we go out to the park, have a nice day, feed some pigeons, it's all fine and dandy!''

Wally jumps in his seat, eyes darting back and forth like a ping pong ball. Still, he chooses not to comment on it. It’s always pointless, anyway. When Wally has to vent there is nothing that will get through his ear and not float right out the other, unless every single word has been hurled off his chest. So the man watches him quietly, listens to the best of his abilities and chews on his treat in supportive silence.

''And then --'' Wally gestures so wildly with his hands Barry feels a bit worried about the nearby plants. ''Then he asks if I want to come over and of course I do! I'm his best friend! I've missed him like a leg! You know I have right?''

''Well, y --''

''And Alfred has made his awesome turkey sandwiches with mustard curry that are to die for and we're not talking much, like, Dick is really quiet but he's been like that for months now so I didn't think much about it but then he just makes a one-eighty turn and just flips all his shi--'' Barry clears his throat. ''-- goes all Godzilla on my butt and yells at me, uncle Barry! He yells at me!''

Wally's voice has risen considerably and when he quiets down the silence feels almost physical. Barry remains calm and looks at his partner thoughtfully.

''Wally, you've got to understand that this is a really difficult time for Dick. He's been through a lot. It's natural for him to have mood swings.''

A single, accusatory finger points at him.

''No! Him working a case for three straight days without sleep is moody! I can handle that, I'm used to it. Dick can be really nasty when he wants to but this -'' Wally shakes his head. ''This is crazy! He's crazy, uncle Barry! I'm going crazy! I - I mean I understand if he doesn't feel up to hanging with me as much because he's got a lot of things to think about and I understand if he's tired and I get that, uncle Barry, I do, but -'' Wally sighs and squirms as his body doesn't know what to do with itself. ''It's like he's not even trying! I spent five minutes with him and I felt a million years old!''

Barry frowns in concern, then leans further across the table to squeeze Wally's shoulder.

''Wally, it's okay if you feel like you can't put up with this. It's normal to be worn down when someone close to you is in crisis.''

''But he's my best friend!''

''Hey, I know that, kid. Just calm down and let me tell you something.''

Wally sighs but nods just the same.

''Yeah, okay'' he draws a hand through his hair and sighs again. ''Okay.''

''I've seen a lot as a hero'' Barry says and scratches his neck, uncomfortable at the memories. ''I've seen a lot of bad people, and I've seen what those people can do to good people like Dick. But the worst things I've seen are on the force. Sure, I'm a lot in the lab but... the worst stuff isn't on the streets, anyhow.''

Wally looks like he doesn't quite understand.

''It's in here, kid'' Barry taps at his protégés left temple. ''In our heads. I've seen what happens to the victims, and their families. I've seen rape survivors, robbery victims, assault victims, I've seen mothers whose children were murdered, run over by a drunk driver... I've seen them swarm and gather around the department, huddling together on the benches as someone gets them a terrible cup of cop coffee. It's... it's bad, Wally. Really bad, sometimes. ''

A sigh slithers through his throat as the images rise clear and fresh again; like stirring dust and getting glass splinters in your eyes.

''You think you've seen it all after Grodd's latest scheme or when you're halfway through defrosting whoever was unlucky enough to run into Captain Cold. You meet terrible people like the Joker and you think to yourself that you've seen the worst the world can throw at you but... you haven't. You truly haven't until you look into the eyes of a father mourning his son killed in a gang fight or someone young girl waiting for the day when the cops finally catch her rapist.''

Wally turns his eyes away angrily. Barry gives him a little nudge.

''When someone you love has a burden, it becomes your burden too. It tears families apart, a lot of the time. It's... not a pretty sight but it happens, all the time, Wally. Just because you're not the victim doesn't mean you can't hurt. And you're not a bad person, or a bad hero or friend because you sometimes get sick of carrying all of that. It doesn't mean you're bad at what you do or as you are because you get tired, or frustrated. It means you have a big heart and I'm proud of you for trying so hard to help him. But you have to think about yourself, too, Wally. You can't fix him.''

''You don't understand, uncle Barry''

''Try me.''

Wally groans into his hands and leans back against the chair. The way he speaks and moves is forced. Barry thinks that what he sees is guilt.

''You know what I thought today?'' Barry shakes his head and Wally swallows. For some reason he finds eye-contact impossible to maintain. ''I thought that maybe it would have been better if... if he hadn't come back at all.''

The room is sunk into a pressing, crushing silence for a long, long while. Barry looks thoughtfully at him while Wally tries his best not to start slamming his head against the table. Something to kill the guilt and the shame, something to drown out the anger that spreads through his body like a thick, sticky slime, squeezes into his throat and refuses to let go.

''Wally…''

''Who does that?!'' his voice rises again, suddenly, as Wally whips his arm about in exasperation. ''Who thinks that about a person?!''

''Are you thinking if he died, you wouldn't have to watch him suffer like this? That if he hadn't come back, he wouldn't have to struggle?''

Wally nods slowly, but refuses to look up.

''Bet you think I'm a monster. I _feel_ like a monster.''

''No, kid. I don't think you're a monster.'' The kid still refuses to meet his eyes, so Barry elaborates. ''It's hard for you. You're one of the closest people he has. You spend more time with him than even Batman does.''

When the silence presses down on them again, Barry decides to lean in across the table. Wally tries his best to look someplace else, at the plants or the tiny crumbs left on his plate, but his mentor's gaze is strong and magnetic. It confuses him because it's quite the opposite of what Wally had expected. Barry doesn't look mad at all, not even disgusted, like he should be, like Wally is, and Wally simply gives up trying to understand.

''I'm gonna let you in on a little secret...'' As Barry leans closer Wally does the same, eyes big and expectant. ''You're not the only one who feels helpless.''

Wally frowns.

''You know... When Dick came back I was determined to fix this. I thought that whatever happened to him we could make it through because he's stubborn and... and I always thought he was too perfect, you know, like nothing could hurt him because he's Robin and together we'd be too awesome to stop at anything. But...''

''But he's human, Wally. He's vulnerable and mortal just like you and I. Honestly, after everything he's been through, I'm surprised he's still here.''

Wally's eyes widen in sudden, relentless terror.

''You don't think he's gonna go jump off some building, do you?''

Barry shakes his head.

''No. Or, I hope not.''

The two lapse into silence again as Wally is deep in thought. Barry leaves him to it and begins to clean up their plates, disposing of the last crumbs of cheesecake and wipes the table wordlessly as the cogs in Wally's head turn and moan.

''Uncle Barry?''

''Yeah, kid?''

Barry looks at him over his shoulder as he's pouring some sour milk down the drain.

''There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?'' then Wally meets his eyes, and they send a jolt through his gut. ''All of you. I noticed Bats wasn't giving me the full story but I expected that from him. But Clark, Canary -- even Tornado -- it's like you're only giving us half the story.''

Barry sighs and folds the empty carton, turning his head away.

''Wally, whatever we haven't said is for a reason. Now I think what you need to do is let Dick take his time. Trust him. Let him learn to trust you.'' Then he gives him a look unlike any other. ''And Wally, if you ever feel like it's becoming too much - talk to me. Or Iris or Dinah or anyone. ''

''What do you mean?''

''I mean that depression sinks its claws into whatever it can. If you feel like the situation with Dick is taking you down with it, talk to someone before it goes too far. I don't... want to see you get into trouble, okay?''

Wally isn't entirely sure what he's agreeing to, but it feels right to nod.

''Okay, uncle Barry.''

''Good'' the older man smiles. ''Now, kid. I have to make some new cheesecake before Iris gets home and I think you could benefit from not worrying for just one night.''

''I could help you bake!''

Barry laughs, which insults Wally for some reason.

''No, I know you, Wally. You'll eat the batter before I'm halfway through making it.'' Barry shakes his head with a smile. ''No. Go to the mountain, say hi to your friends. Or do your homework.''

Wally makes a disgusted face.

'' _Ugh_. I think I'll go to the mountain.''

Barry laughs again, a gentle sound. It's not enough to completely uplift him, but Wally still turns to smile thinly at him before he takes off.

''Uncle Barry?''

''Yes, Wally?''

''Thanks.''

The older speedster nods.

''Anytime, kid.''

 

* * *

 

 

Wally can't sleep. His mind is on fire with racing thoughts that won't let him be, images and sounds but most of all it's guilt that’s keeping him awake. His stomach twists and moans as the feeling spreads through every nerve, tingling in his fingertips and scratching at the roof of his mouth. Wally fidgets in the bed for hours but it is of no use.

He came to the mountain straight after his visit to Barry and as he arrived M'gann was dusting the shelves, while Superboy sat disinterested in front of the television. It was like he had expected it to be. When the teleporter announced his arrival there was glee on the Martian's face. Superboy had nodded in greeting and M'gann had fed him rocky road brownies. He could see in the way she carried herself and the way she chose her words that she wanted to ask him something, talk to him, but was much too shy.

Wally knew she could probably pick up on his bad mood, it was clear even to a non-telepath that he was still distressed but M'gann was sweet and did not pry. They spoke of mundane things, teenage things, like the cheerleading squad and Wendy and Marvin doing something silly; Superboy had gotten a B on his geography test and she was very happy for him. He seemed to be adjusting well to a normal life.

Normal. Wally’s heard that word be thrown around a lot lately; has thrown it around himself quite a few times. It’s the thing that seems to be on everyone’s minds. Something they all long and look for but never seem to find. Wally wants everything to go back to normal so badly it hurts physically, but he knows things aren't and probably won't be for a very long time. He tries to accept this, tries to be brave in the face of change but it's hard. Too hard, sometimes.

Wally sighs in annoyance and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He thought staying over at the mountain would do him some good, give him some peace of mind but all it really does is remind him of what's missing. Who's missing. Wally tries to ignore the memories that come with the place but it's impossible when he's under the covers and has nothing to do but let his mind go.

Accepting defeat he gets out of bed, straightens his hair with his fingers and heads out to the kitchen. Eating usually calms him down.

''Hey, there, uh... Superboy''

Wally isn't surprised to see the clone awake, Superboy seems uncomfortable sleeping in a bed. Unused to it, maybe, after all that time sleeping upright. If you can call that sleeping. When Conner isn't spending the nights staring at static he’s usually in the gym, or like now, the kitchen. Wally sees a cup of hot cocoa in his hands and instantly hears his stomach rumble. Conner hears it too and gives him a strange look.

''Sorry. Been hours since I last ate.''

Conner often wonders where Wally puts it all. He eyes the other teen, making Wally feel uncomfortable but he pretends not to notice as he searches through the fridge.

''Spaghetti'' the clone says bluntly.

Wally glances at him over his shoulder with a raised brow.

''Huh?''

Conner looks annoyed.

''M'gann made spaghetti last night. In the blue bowl.''

Wally looks back into the fridge and notices a large, blue bowl covered in overzealous layers of cling film. He sees that there is indeed some pasta and what smells like pesto chicken in it. It looks to be roughly four servings, which should be sufficient for a late night snack. Wally finds himself a fork, throws the cling film in the trash and plops himself down in front of his teammate.

For a while Wally just eats and Conner watches the steam rise from his cup with great interest. Wally wonders on many occasions what it's like inside that head of his.

''Wally''

Wally looks up from his brave attempt to catch a piece of spaghetti with his mouth, succeeding mostly in getting pesto all over his shirt.

''What's up, SB?''

Conner hesitates.

''Is it always going to be like this?''

''Like what?''

Superboy watches him devour the food much like a zoologist watches the many habits of a monkey. He exhales sharply and glares into his beverage.

''Everyone's sad all the time.''

Wally scratches his cheek and looks away. The food starts to feel like glue between his teeth.

''I don't know, Supes. This is new to me, too.''

''It is?''

Wally nods and watches blue eyes search for him in uncertainty.

''Maybe it's time we let him back.''

Wally frowns.

''Con, I know it's weird without Rob here but you haven't seen him lately.''

''How bad can it be?'' Conner's eyes are honest, because Conner's always honest. Wally appreciates talking to him because he always knows that what he sees is the truth; for the same reason he also hates talking to him.

''It's...'' Wally sighs, not really hungry anymore but eating anyway to keep himself busy. ''I'm tired, Supes, okay? For one night I'd like not to think about Rob and how he's doing.''

Conner gives him a narrow, searching look.

''You're worried.''

''Well, yeah, aren't you?''

''Yes. But you're closer to him. You see him more.''

''So what?''

Wally puts the fork down a bit louder than intended.

''So if you're this worried, something's wrong.''

''Yeah, well, I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. These last two months I've been doing nothing else, SB, and I'm tired of it. Okay? So could we just --''

''Are you talking about Robin?'' M'gann appears in her nightgown, scratching sleepily at her eye and Wally can't contain his sigh.

''No, we're not talking about --''

''How is he? I never see him anymore.''

Wally lays his head on the table and groans. Conner eyes him skeptically as M'gann walks over to the table.

''Oh, you found my spaghetti! Was it good?'' M'gann looks amiable and soft, like always, but her chipperness comes with an obvious struggle. Wally glances at her from the cool surface of the table.

''Yeah, hot stuff, it was delicious.''

''Wally, are you alright?''

''I'm fine.''

''You just don't seem to be putting a lot of effort into your cheesy lines'' says a fourth voice, and when they turn around they see Artemis standing in the doorway. Wally is momentarily disturbed and very confused because he didn't hear the teleporter announcement, also because it's near midnight and Artemis is wearing her civvies.

Artemis sees the incredulity on his face and shrugs.

''I couldn't sleep. Thought I'd see if you guys were awake.''

''I was'' Conner says helpfully.

Artemis kind of smiles.

''Sorry if I'm bothering you but...''

''No, it's fine!'' M'gann smiles widely at her, welcomingly. ''I couldn't sleep and I sensed annoyance from the kitchen so I figured Wally and Conner couldn't either.''

Wally straightens on the chair and sighs.

''Well, now we only need Gillface to show up and we'll have ourselves a party.''

''Oh, no, Kaldur's on a mission with Aquaman so he probably won't have time to --''

''Kidding, sugar cakes''

M'gann looks flustered so Wally offers her a consoling smirk, but only manages poorly to uphold it. Conner let's his eyes shift between the three, his brow furrowed and arms crossed.

''I want Robin back.'' he says, straight to the point while the three turn to look at him with mixed expressions.

''Conner'' M'gann says carefully. ''I think that's something Robin has to decide, when he feels ready to return''

''He's benched though so I'd say that's Kaldur's decision'' Wally interjects helpfully and starts playing with what's left of the food.

M'gann looks bothered by his statement and she shifts awkwardly.

''Well, Kaldur has been wavering in his resolve... maybe we should call Robin and --''

''He's been ignoring us for weeks'' Conner points out.

During their conversation Artemis is tensing up, keeping to the doorway at a safe distance from the topic, hoping she won't have to participate if she stays inconspicuous. M'gann feels her unease, though she doesn't want to dig into it out of respect. Wally glances over his shoulder to look at the archer and suddenly Artemis is twice as uncomfortable.

''So what's keeping you up, dollface?''

''Wow, you really aren't trying''

Wally glares at her. Artemis takes a tiny step closer into the room and rubs at her arms. She's starting to wonder why she came, but had felt before that she needed some company. Listening to the hard, cold sounds of Gotham City from their drafty apartment made her want to climb the walls. Artemis couldn't sleep and was going out of her head; she thought maybe hanging out with the team would be some sort of break from the stress she had been feeling lately.

Every day since she went to Wayne manor had been troublesome, exhausting, for her because she couldn't stop thinking. Missions with Green Arrow are helpful, but she feels distracted and unfocused. She misses the team and ever since Robin's return, their number of assignments have conveniently dwindled; she doesn't get to see them a whole lot anymore between school and her own duties with her mentor. So she thought that, maybe, the mountain could provide her with a sanctuary, a different world separate from her real life where she could take a second to breathe.

''I think we should just let... Robin, be alone for a while'' she says ''I mean, he's been pretty roughed up''

Before this Robin has only been in her hero life. Even if she worried back then it hadn't been as close, as near to her, as it was now. Because Robin -- Dick -- is a real person. He’s her friend and teammate and schoolmate, he has a family and goals and hopes and homework and he is so tiny and his eyes are so blue. He’s so young and it’s weird now, because now he’s more than a teammate behind a mask. Robin is a frightened, thirteen year old boy and Artemis has seen him lose control and it scares her.

Artemis doesn't know what to do, whether she should tell them what she knows or keep the burden to herself; then again she fears she might explode but it would be unfair to spill his secret. The team doesn't really need to know but Artemis has to do something to get it off her mind. Does Wally know? The two seem so close all the time it would be natural, if Robin has told anyone it would probably be him.

''But he's been trained to handle it'' Conner says. Trying to understand the situation based on his knowledge only proves useless because he knows so little. Robin is trained and supposed to be capable, but he's seen Robin twitch and stare. He's seen the horror on his face and the constant, tense anticipation. Conner isn't really sure what to believe because nothing makes any real sense anymore. ''This shouldn't be so hard, should it?''

''Conner!'' M'gann whispers, mortified.

''What? He has!''

''But this is different --''

''How? How is this different?''

''Because this is real, Conner'' Artemis snarls despite her intentions and the others look strangely at her. ''It's one thing to train to withstand torture without talking, it's one thing to prepare and study and god knows what they do... but it's another thing entirely to actually go through it. Especially that young.''

''But he's Robin'' Conner says, like they're talking about two different people.

''He's still human!''

''I know that -'' Conner's fists are clenching and M'gann notices his rising anger within seconds. Quickly she moves closer to him to put a calming hand on his shoulder, and as she does he seems to relax.

''I think what Conner is trying to say is that Robin's always seemed so strong. Of course this must be hard on him but... it's...''

''It's a hard experience for all of us'' Wally says mostly to himself.

''If Batman thinks he should be off duty, I think he should be off duty.'' Artemis says. ''I mean, he's his mentor, so he should know.''

Conner gives her a look.

''So if Green Arrow told you that you couldn't be on the team, would you listen?''

Artemis looks insulted.

''No, but Green Arrow's not _Batman_. I mean, those two are like clockwork!''

''Yes, I think Artemis has a point'' M'gann puts herself between the two as their body language is getting hostile. ''I don't want him to hurt himself. Maybe when he's better --''

''That's if he'll ever _get_ better, M'gann.''

The Martian looks like she doesn't understand.

''How can you say that?'' Conner growls. ''Of course he'll be better! He has to get better.''

''Yeah, unfortunately, Superboy, that's not for us to decide.''

''He doesn't even want to talk to us'' M'gann is getting upset. Behind her on the counter spatulas and spoons rattle and stir with her emotions. Artemis glances over to the knife drawer worriedly, putting a hand on her arm to calm her. M'gann bites her lip and looks at the floor. ''What makes you sure he would want to return after how we cut him off?''

''It was for his own good, M'gann'' Artemis tries to sound soft and calming, but the other girl just shakes her head.

''How do we know that?''

''Artemis, I know you think you know Robin but you haven't seen him in weeks.'' Wally speaks up for the first time in minutes and the three have almost forgotten he’s there. ''I was over there today and Robin nearly bit my head off. He's not... he's not stable.''

''But...'' M'gann swallows to fight the sudden dryness of her mouth. ''Robin's always stable.''

''Yeah. Exactly.''

He feels their eyes on him, feels their worry and frustration and probably accusation like a hot iron against his skin. Wally finally gives up on the spaghetti and pushes the bowl away from him.

''We don't need to cross that line now.'' He says and absentmindedly he wonders why it suddenly got so hard to look at them. ''We can wait.''

''For how long?''

''As long as it takes.''

''Yeah, I think we should wait for Kaldur before we discuss this'' Artemis scratches her neck. ''He's team leader and all and I don't think we should make any big decisions behind his back.''

Conner glares at her momentarily before he disappears. Wally rolls his eyes and groans.

''Great, now you got Supes all upset. He's probably gonna go smash my door again!''

Artemis glares at him and Wally instantly shuts up. But before they have time to ponder the matter further the clone is back again, fiddling with his ear as the three watch him in mild fascination. Conner ignores them and sits down. When he keeps poking his ear, they realize he's gotten his communicator.

''Conner! Don't bother Aqualad when he's on a mission!'' Artemis hisses but is dismissed by the wave of a hand. ''No, seriously, emergencies only!''

''Kaldur?'' Conner raises his voice to drown out Artemis' own. ''Yeah, we're having a problem. No, no, the cave hasn't been compromised.''

Six watchful eyes hang onto him like ticks. Conner does his best to pretend they're not there.

''Yes, we're thinking we should let Robin back.'' He nods and grunts as Kaldur says something on the other end. ''Yeah. Uh huh. Yes. I know. I know, that's what I told them! Yeah. No. No, we haven't talked to him.''

Artemis rolls her eyes and gives an exasperated wave.

''Hell _o_? Still missing the point here! Robin doesn't want to talk to us!''

''He talks to Wally'' M'gann says, her voice almost pleading and childlike in its hopefulness. ''Wally can contact him!''

Wally shakes his head.

''Nuh-uh. I had to go to his school to actually get to see him, today! He's been ignoring me for weeks.''

''You went to his school?!'' Artemis looks strangely shocked about this. Wally can't find a reason for her facial expression and frankly, he doesn't really care at the moment.

''He was being stubborn. I had to use foul play. It doesn't matter, anyway. Rob and I had a fight.''

''About what?'' the blonde hisses, towering over him all of a sudden.

''Why do you care?''

Artemis jabs a finger into his chest.

''I care because I don't want you to do something stupid!''

''Hey! He started it!''

''Oh, you are so petty!''

''Guys?'' Conner clears his throat to get their attention but Artemis and Wally are too busy bickering to notice him. He clears his throat again but is willfully ignored so he has no choice but to slam his fist down on the table. M'gann shrieks and half expects it to break in two, but when the seconds tick by and the table is still standing, she lets out a sigh of relief.

''What did Kaldur say?'' Artemis turns away from Wally, signifying the end of their argument, though the speedster doesn't give up trying to get a word in. ''Wally, shut up!''

''He said that he thinks it's risky, but maybe it's best if we talk to Robin.'' Then he looks as if he remembered something. ''Oh, also not to bother him like this unless it's an emergency.''

''That's _it_? That's all he has to say?'' Artemis growls. ''Well, that's _really_ helpful.''

''I think we should listen to Kaldur'' M'gann says, biting her lip. ''You guys are like family to me and... and I think that families should do things together.''

The others look at her in what reminds her of shame. They share the briefest of glances with each other, suddenly at a loss for words.

''I miss him, Wally.'' the Martian almost pleads. ''I haven't seen him in months.''

''What if we don't put him on missions again'' the other girl suggests. ''but just on training exercises?''

They all turn to stare intently at Wally, whose face is stubborn and resolute, his mouth a taut line but their gazes are merciless and strong. Eventually Wally puts his hands up in surrender.

''Fine! But I'm not doing it!''

''Why the hell not?'' Artemis demands, clenching her fists.

''I don't feel like it, okay?''

''Whatever, you big baby! I'll do it.'' She pokes him angrily again. ''You know you can't be mad at each other forever!''

''Maybe not, but I'm mad now! Why would he listen to you, anyway?''

Artemis scoffs and crosses her arms. She doesn't feel very confident about her plan, but refuses to let it show. When Wally seems to shrink a little under her gaze, she can't help but let a smug smile stretch her lips.

''Maybe because I'm not a big, idiot jerk like you''

''Hey!''

M'gann interrupts the fight before it can fully bloom by throwing her arms around Artemis' waist.

''Are you going to call him now? Are you? Are you?''

''M'gann, it's the middle of the night.''

''Like he slept before?'' Conner cocks a brow.

''No, Artemis' right. We should all try to go to bed.'' M'gann nods knowingly. ''Besides, it would be disrespectful to call him this late.''

The blonde agrees, then waves towards the door.

''Come on, guys. We can deal with this in the morning.''

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

One thing about Gotham City is how beautiful it looks in the peripheral.

Just a fast blur of odd shapes and dirty colors; like a fable creature, surreal and imaginary yet somehow, still right there. That's when he loves it the most. When leaping from a rooftop, falling, falling --

_Nine seconds to terminal velocity_

\-- or driving past it on his motorcycle at 60 mph, in the Batmobile at 3 am on a Monday morning with school only hours away

_Seven seconds to terminal velocity_

He is reminded for a moment what it's like to live life out of the corner of your eye, the feeling of moving faster than anything bad and foul and big and mean and hurtful

_Four seconds_

This is what freedom feels like.

_Three seconds_

It's the feeling of the past.

_Two_

Of flying.

_One_

He knows what to do to decelerate softly and gradually. To ease the body into a different speed of moving, cushioning his fall as he no longer cuts through the air with the swiftness of a razor.

The air is hard and rough in his lungs and he feels simple laws of physics try to squeeze it out of him. It is a familiar experience. The prickling of his eyes as the air claws at him; the nipping at skin and tousling of hair so rough his scalp hurts. It hurts to fall.

It's the best kind of pain.

_Fifteen seconds to terminal velocity_

He closes his eyes and leaps again. Spins lightly at first, arms out like a messiah;

_Twelve seconds to terminal velocity_

then tucks his limbs in tight and close to his body. Underneath his skin the muscles are warm with vibration.

_Eight seconds_

It's the best kind of feeling in the world.

_Seven seconds_

Better than warm arms that can no longer reach him; better than the smell of hot popcorn on the first day of spring and the feel of a chalk stained bar under aching hands.

''Controlled falling'' his father used to call it

It was the closest one could come to death without touching it.  
The closest one could ever get to really being alive.

_''This is what it looks like from the edge, kid''_

Tendons stretching, jaws clenching, concentration, focus. You only get one chance. One wrong little tilt of the ankle, the tiniest twitch of a muscle and that's it.

_''Grand, ain't it?''_

The end of the story.

_Six seconds_

He doesn't need chalk when tough gloves keep him steady. Doesn't need the safety of a net because he never used one; it would just be in the way, at this point.

There's this trick, his mother taught him once. A truly dangerous feat.

_Four seconds_

You had to really time your leap right, or the next light you would see would be red and blue. It was the leap, really, more than the actual flip, that did it.   
Some people practiced years and never got it right. Great-grandmother Rivka practiced until the day she died.

_''But the really important bit comes after that.''_

Uncle Ferka picked up where she left off. Laughed in the face of death.  
Death defying. That's who they were.

Fearless.

_''The most important part of the act is trust.''_

When grandfather Yoska finally got it down, it was easier than breathing.

_''Without trust, there wouldn't be much of an act at all.''_

The best part of the trick was the catch. The look in your partner's -- your savior's -- eyes in the most vital second of your life. Nothing mattered before this. Nothing after this would ever feel the same.

_Three_

He twists his head up sometimes, still can't shake that habit even after four years. Still searches for their eyes.  
But there's no one there now. He tries to get used to the vacancy, fight the itching of his palms as they long for chalk; he still puts it on some nights just to remember what it's like _._

But he knows it's futile.

_One_

This is a solo trick.


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for violence. 
> 
> also happy new year, everyone! and thank you for the support. i wish you a happy 2018 :)

Bruce gets sick of letting things slide.  

When Dick decides to lock himself inside his room again Bruce has enough of gentle tactics and respectful distance. Dick kicks and screams the entire way to the limousine each morning, but at least he gets out of the house.   
  
Bruce only feels slightly guilty.  
  
Dick dodges in and out of classes like the bad headache he's been sporting. The teachers don't say anything about it the first few times, only nod in silent acknowledgment when he shows up; pretend like nothing when he cuts a class to brood on the roof or hyperventilate in the bathroom. He spends every lunch break on a toilet, sometimes crying but most often not. **  
**  
It's only when his GPA slides from the perfect, spotless 4.0 down into 2.3, that they start to look at him strangely. Ms. Lund takes him aside one time to ask if something is wrong, but Dick remains secretive and she doesn't dig any further. She understands that privileged children prefer their privacy; when one is hounded by the press for every little move it tends to leave marks in a person. Especially the young ones.   
  
And Dick is so very young and so very promising. She feels torn because she doesn't know where here professional boundaries end and where her duties as a fellow human being start. It's a grey zone, more than anything, and it leaves her mute for a while.  
  
But Dick, who looked to be getting bigger, suddenly gets smaller. And smaller and smaller and smaller until she can't help but say something.   
  
Is everything alright at home? Are you troubled by something? Is it someone at school?   
  
You're not being abused at home, are you?  
  
Dick kind of wants to laugh but doesn't.  
  
He can't tell her the truth. Not that he really wants to, anymore. It doesn't matter that he was captured and that they did... things, to him. Doesn't matter that all he wants to do is forget but that is the one thing that seems impossible. Doesn't make any difference in the world that he no longer even tries to sleep because the memories are remorseless and vile, vivid and so very real.  
  
It does no longer carry any importance that he can't gain weight not only because eating is excruciating; it doesn't matter that he's stopped trying with that, too. Dick doesn't dare step on the scale anymore because the one meager pound upwards sent him into panic. It took him an hour to stop crying and even longer to stop the trembling. It doesn't matter that any step taking him closer to the real world and his real life and his real responsibilities and crushing expectations frightens him more than anything.  
  
Because nothing matters, anymore.   
Not even heroism, and Dick always figured when it got to that point - if it  _ever_  got to that - it was the time for him to let it all go. 

When a born performer no longer feels like putting on the show, there is nothing in the world worth fighting for. He's had enough, and it’s clear to him that so has everyone else. They think he’s stupid, think he doesn't notice the way they avoid his eyes or how they always shuffle their feet so awkwardly around him. Like a smell, a rotten odor, follows him around. One that hurts to breathe and twists their tongues. Like he’s putrid.  
  
Dick figures that they can simply see it on him. That they can see the filth under his skin, smell the sweat and the blood as clearly as he can. It’s as if they can tell just by looking at him that he’s damaged.  
  
And no one wants to touch something damaged for fear of worsening it. For fear of getting stained.

Wally doesn't want to see him, Bruce is losing his commendable patience and even Alfred looks tired. Dick hasn't seen a lot of people, and doesn't know many at school, but when even the teachers start to look at him like  _that_ , when even Babs words her sentences differently, something awful shifts in him.  
  
The stench grows and festers within him, along with the constant whispering of a voice in his ear -- a laugh he tries to forget -- telling him over and over what a futile fight it is.

  
He sits on the toilet day after day until his stomach stops whining. Lets himself be dragged towards the limo more because his feet don't want to move, rather than any real resistance. His mind is on edge and screaming, warning him of the countless, endless possible threats in his vicinity but he doesn't pay it much mind. He welcomes it, instead.   
  
If strangers want to kill him, he won't stop them. If there's an enemy or villain or one of  _them_ back to finish the job, to keep him from revealing whatever there is that he could know, he won't mind. But no one ever comes.   
  
People avoid him rather than advance upon him and a part of Dick can't say it's surprised. Part of him wants to scream because he's so damn tired.  
  
_''It will never end, Robin. I can go on and on and on forever. What fun we can have together, hm?''_  
  
What angers and sickens him the most about it is that he has no control. He won. The bastard won.   
  
And he was right. He was right all along and Dick can't believe what an idiot he was to take this long to understand that.   
  
But Dick doesn't want to let him win. Can't let him have the last word, can't let him rule his life like that. Dick feels panicked and confined, strapped by the leather bindings all over again in that stinking, cold room. He wants to run somewhere and never look back because this isn't how it was supposed to go.   
  
This wasn't how it was supposed to end at all.   
  
He won't  _let_  it end this way.  


 

* * *

 

  
  
Artemis has tried to reach him for days, almost two weeks. She even managed to pinch Wally's arm until he tried to reach the boy, but it was to no use. Dick ignores all of their attempts at contact, and when the rest of the team tries, as a last resort, they get the same results. Batman tells them nothing and their lives move on. Slowly. They get a mission, a small one, an easy one, and they handle it with no setbacks or even anything worth mentioning. Stop a planned heist on a museum. Lock up some bad guys.  
  
Move on.  
  
The world keeps spinning and everything feels wrong. They soldier on, can't let this obstacle ruin everything else. They do their duties, take care of their lives and keep reaching. But no one reaches back. Eventually everyone gives up, except for Artemis.  
  
The archer looks for him in school, tries to be casual about it but even Bette picks up on it after a while. She pretends like nothing, she has to talk to him about -- maths, I want him to tutor me in math, you know how badly I'm doing -- but Dick doesn't let her get close. If he knows that she knows or not she can't tell, he seems to be reacting to everyone just the same. Get too close and he's gone.  
  
The redhead girl, Barbara, the Gordon kid, comes up to her once at lunch, looking worried. Artemis forgets how to form real words because of the surprise. Barbara doesn't look very certain herself but she sucks in a deep breath and reminds herself that she's older than the blonde, and that she should act like it. But it's hard.  
  
She asks her if she knows Dick, if she knows what's wrong. Artemis still has little luck learning the complicated art of speech, but nevertheless she tries her hardest. When she finally manages a coherent sentence, all she can do is bring the girl's hopes down.   
  
Artemis has to cringe at the desperation in Barbara’s voice, mostly because she knows it's in hers, too.   
  
''I'm worried, has he told you anything? Do you know what could be wrong?''  
  
Artemis feels like she's punching her in the face when all she can do is shake her head.

 

* * *

 

 

''What are you doing?''  
  
He breathes in deep but still feels dizzy. Figures it could be the jumping, the force of his movements or the sheer altitude might have jarred something in his head. Broken something, somewhere.  
  
Not that it's important right now.  
  
Dick wipes at his face as the sweat keeps pooling. Keeps slipping into crooks and corners of his body, plaster the hoodie to his back like a second skin. It moves with his breathing which is finally starting to slow down; but his heart is still wild and restless and it howls and aches underneath the bone. Dick runs gloved fingers over the left side of his chest and tries his best not to remember.  
  
''I  _said_ , what are you  _doing_?''  
  
Roy sounds just the right kind of angry.  
  
''Just stretching my legs''  
  
It's funny when you look at it in the right light. He's not sure exactly what about it amuses him, but it's got to be something. Because God knows he can't be sad forever.  
  
Sooner or later you've got to see the humor in things.   
  
_''If you can't laugh at your problems, how else are you going to survive?''_  
  
His father always used to laugh at everything. The kind of sound you don't ever really forget; the kind that takes residence within you, lives in your chest for a very long time. He's not here to laugh now, and Dick can't quite find it in him to do it for him. So he smiles, instead, and hopes that eventually, somehow, the sorrow will fade.  
  
Roy doesn't look amused at all. He can't see the fun in anything, really. Dick always found that to be the worst thing about him -- and there are a lot of things that are wrong with Roy Harper.  
  
''Look, Robin, if this is some kind of insane suicide mission --''  
  
''It's not.'' Dick shakes his head and when Roy just keeps on looking at him, he adds ''It's really not.''  
  
''It sure didn't look like nothing.''  
  
Dick shrugs but gives no reply. There is nothing to say.  
  
Roy releases a sigh that is weighed by frustration -- he's gotten that a lot, lately, and it stings a bit -- and reaches out a hand. Dick steps away, like Roy had expected him to. The two say nothing as Dick wipes blood from his mouth. The taste makes him want to vomit and cry and scream all at the same time. It's kind of refreshing, because it makes the buzzing in his head clear, gives room not for bad memories or thoughts of self blame, but simply nothing.  
  
Dick knows that Roy knows he's been sneaking out and jumping. Knows that he knows -- if it wasn't obvious by his swollen lip already -- that he stalks the night to look for fights. Bad people, cruel people. The kind he'd bind and bag on a normal night, but tonight is not one of those nights. Roy doesn't mention that Dick is looking for unnecessary fights, that even a bag snatcher deserves more care and better treatment than that. That Dick is being needlessly cruel and vicious, and that someone might get seriously hurt.  
  
He doesn't mention it because all the other times he did gave him nothing. Dick is smart enough to keep his face well protected, but he couldn't avoid the punch that broke his lip this night. Batman won't be home in time to see it, anyway, so he pays it no mind.   
  
''You're being unbelievably dumb about this.'' Roy says.  
  
It all hurts, but it's a good kind of pain.  
  
The first fight was an accident, just some muggers looking for trouble with the wrong kid when he was out and about. Tried to gang up on him, steal his belongings and Dick panicked. Panicked and lashed out and it felt good to destroy something.

Roy doesn't mention that the muggers had to go to the hospital. Doesn't mention it to anyone, not to Ollie or Batman or Kaldur'ahm. He's not entirely sure why because he knows this could go bad in so many different ways. But something stops him.  
  
''As long as you're angry you're not going to get anywhere'' Roy tries but Dick only smirks at him. ''You need to accept it. Something happened, now deal with it.''  
  
''I am dealing with it.''  
  
''This is you dealing?'  
  
Roy was angry with him, is still angry, but he's tried yelling. Tried telling him that he's turning into what he hates, turning into what he's been fighting these past four years. That he's cruel and so unlike himself and that is scares him. Though Roy doesn't mention that last part.  
  
Still, Dick won't listen. Won't hear a word he says because he finally found something that works. Finally found a pain that drowned out the old one, found a release that made the nightmares lessen. Made him feel like he was still in control of his own fate and Dick won't let anyone take that away from him again.   
  
Roy doesn't say anything about it, so he watches. Silently from the roof tops like a hidden guardian. Watches his back like Dick has watched his in the past, no matter how much they fight or how badly they get along sometimes. Dick’s always been there, so Roy has to return the favor.  
  
It's all he can think of doing but at the time he fears it won't be enough.  
He fears that maybe nothing is.  


 

* * *

  
  
  
The man in the glasses visits his friend not as the revered hero known colloquially as Superman, but as Clark Kent. The secretary knows him well by now and greets him with a charming smile -- she has a crush on him, he thinks, judging by the way her heart rate picks up whenever he comes to visit but Clark never mentions it. He only has to wait five minutes after flashing her a brilliant, though awkward, smile.  
  
Bruce Wayne is for once in his office -- a rare occurrence, to say the least -- and looks up from the reason for his troubles. The stack of papers is almost as tall as the desk, and it's not without a little bit of amusement that Clark watches him shove some of the piles apart for a better view.  
  
''Kent'' Bruce acknowledges his existence.   
  
Clark tries to stand straight.  
  
''You know why I'm here, don't you?''  
  
''Yes.''  
  
The outside world doesn't get to see a lot of Dick Grayson, and the gates of Gotham Academy are well protected against the investigative grins of reporters. After all, the parents pay a lot of money to protect the privacy of their children. But it is the absence that has the reporters intrigued in the first place. Bruce hoped that if he kept Dick off the radar maybe the papers wouldn't start to get suspicious. But it’s been two months and at least four charity events, and Dick who has always reluctantly accompanied Bruce to these has been suspiciously absent.  
  
Clark listens to the people at the Daily Planet and knows the others are getting restless, suspicious and jumpy. They know some colleagues and some other reporters have started sneaking around Gotham to get a good look at the kid, but so far it's been difficult because he's so rarely seen.  
  
''They're suspicious'' Clark says. ''So far no one's gotten a good enough look of him but Bruce, if they do... I'm worried what they might think.''  
  
''You're thinking another abuse scandal.''  
  
Clark doesn't want to, but nods anyway.

 

Bruce has dealt with the press a lot. He finds the best thing is to just ignore them -- ignore the allegations of abuse after a rough night with Bane, or the accusations of a sexual relationship with the minor -- most often Bruce has half a mind to punch the sanity out of every reporter in the vicinity but knows it's futile, and sure enough, after another scandal or celebrity makes itself known, the press forgets all about them.   
  
The gossip magazines accuse him of taking cocaine, the Gotham Gazette of hiring sex workers. Bruce has learned to deal with it and Dick rarely seems fazed by the countless of lies being written about him, but that was a different thing. A different time altogether, it seemed.  
  
''He looks bad, Bruce'' Clark says and tries not to sound as sad as he feels. Judging by the look on the other man's face, Bruce picks up on it anyway. ''It's one thing when they write lies about him when he looks... healthy and ... and happy.''  
  
''Can you do anything?''  
  
Clark shrugs.  
  
''I can try.''  
  
''Good.''  
  
Clark isn't pleased with the answer, or the stoic face on his friend. Bruce should be more alarmed, more upset, but he's taking it as calmly as he always does.  
  
''I'm worried that they'll link the scarcity of Dick with the sudden disappearance of... you know.''   
  
Bruce knows he's talking about Robin, and he'd be lying if he said the thought hadn't crossed his mind as well. As for the ones who captured him, he's not too worried. J'onn did a good cleaning of their minds, but others might not be so easily blinded.   
  
''We can say he contracted something. He went abroad on vacation, caught a parasite and is being sent to a hospital on an undisclosed loaciton.''  
  
Clark frowns.  
  
''Do you think it's such a good idea to pull him out of school?''  
  
''I don't think there are any good ideas, Clark.''  
  
The reporter doesn't know how to feel about it, so he tries not to feel much at all. But it hurts. He still hasn't dared get close enough to the kid to talk to him, and the guilt is heavy. But it's so hard to see him, Clark doesn't think he can handle it in a mature and responsible way right now. Clark knows he looks up to him, as a hero and inspiration, and for the moment a hero is the last thing he feels like.   
  
''You and I both know Dick doesn't benefit from being inside all day.''  
  
''He doesn't particularly want to go outside, so I don't think it makes much of a difference.''  
  
Clark balls his fists to keep from lashing out, like an angry, immature child.   
  
''Bruce, for these past years I've trusted you. Even when you don't trust me. And believe me, there is little else I want as much as to be able to trust you now but...''  
  
''But  _what_?''  
  
Clark doesn't know. He finds no words. Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.  
  
''We have to deal with one crisis at a time, Clark. Right now that's what I'm doing.''  
  
''There's one matter that hasn't been handled, yet.''  
  
Bruce gives him a narrow glare.  
  
''I know, I know'' Clark mutters. ''You want to handle it internally. Within the family. I understand that Bruce, and so far I've not complained but for God's sake,  _handle_  it!''  
  
''I will''  
  
''Oh? Because so far nothing's been handled, nothing's been spoken about or discussed. You know you have J'onn and Dinah, off the top of my head I can list a lot of people willing and able to help but --''  
  
Bruce's eyes are dark and cold as they harden, and the chill that runs through Clark's spine robs him of all words.  
  
''I said I'll handle it.'' 

Bruce knows he's right. The big blue idiot is always right about these things, and as much as it annoys him to admit it, he agrees with him. But Bruce has tried all he can think of, and even now, at the most desperate, he doesn't know what to say. How to say it.

Dick won't let him in long enough for them to have a fruitful exchange, and Bruce knows he can force him into therapy, sure. Like he forced him when he was nine. But it leads nowhere because Dick is as stubborn and resilient as they come.

  
''Don't ruin him'' Clark says, and it sounds almost like a warning.   
  
He puts his trilby back on and turns for the door.   
  
''He's not like you, Bruce, and I don't ever want him to be.''

 

 

* * *

  
  
Dick makes sure only to sneak out when Bruce isn't home, when Batman is needed elsewhere -- Nicaragua for damage control or Bialya for mitigation -- with the League. Maybe the man knows, anyway, somehow, like he always does. Maybe not. Dick isn't sure but no one has said anything.   
  
He doesn't feel quite ready yet to put on the suit, but the mask goes on and in a discreet hoodie, he takes his gear and grapples and heads out.  
  
It's as easy as it's always been, maybe more so this time. He climbs the tallest building and works his way down.  
  
Down.  
Dow.  
Down.  
And further.  
  
It's the closest to peace he's been in weeks, months, maybe even years. The moment he lets go of a solid foundation and throws himself out into the polluted air that sticks to his skin with the dirt and the poisons, the moment he closes his eyes and breathes out, Dick feels serene.  
  
His mind is silenced as he basks in the feeling of deterioration.  
  
Falling.  
Falling.  
  
He maneuvers his body into a cushioned fall --  _controlled loss of control_ \-- and heads for the sky again. Then he jumps once more.  
  
Down.  
Down.  
Down and down it goes.  
  
Something inside of his head whispers for him to let go. To not take out the grapple hook, not to press the button. Not to tuck and roll mid-air, not to somersault to a milder velocity.  
  
Just let it go.  
Just let it all go.  
  
And fall.  
  
The ground is fast as it is eager to meet him and, part of him is eager to meet it too. But something holds him back. Fear or weakness, he thinks. But it could be anything. Bruce's teachings are pressed hard into his mind, tattooed to his brain and it's hard when every part of his body acts on them. Never give up. Never,  _ever_  let go.  
  
But every fall he stalls just a little too long. A millisecond here, a nanosecond there. One moment of hesitation. One moment of consideration.  
  
One inch.  
Two inches.  
Three inches too close for comfort.  
  
And he falls.  
  
Down.  
Down.  
  
Down the rabbit hole.

 

* * *

 

 

He hadn't planned to, initially, it just happened on its own.   
  
He only intended to get a dinner jacket out of the closet because Alfred told him it needed a good ironing, when it happened. Normally, all of their suits would hang in the Batcave with the rest of the gear; all things had their place, as the butler used to say, and also because of obvious security reasons. But Dick’s always kept a spare in his own closet. Bruce doesn't know, though Alfred probably does, but chooses not to comment . He's rarely used it, anyway. It’s just in case and, some nights, a kind of security. To have it there, behind the closet doors, as a little reminder. Whenever Dick has lost his footing, he always has he suit there to remind him of what’s important.  
  
Even now, when it instead seems to haunt him, taunt him with the vibrancy of its colors; teases him because it stands for everything he can't. Strength, heroism, courage, resilience. Perseverance. Dick hung it far, far back and never looked at it again since his return from captivity.   
  
But today he couldn't help but brush against it as he reached for the jacket, and as the smooth kevlar met his fingers a jolt leapt through his body. After that his thoughts were like a blur, and his actions automated. The next moment the dinner jacket is on the floor -- Alfred was not going to be happy about that -- the mask is on his face and gloves on his hands as he fastens the cape. It wakes within him the most exhilarating kind of feeling.  
  
Dick hangs the dinner jacket on the outside of his door, locks it and waits.   
  
Time is, after all, a constant force and the very last thing in the world that one can always count on. Unmoving, barely breathing, Dick lets go of it all and waits. Soon enough, nightfall comes.   
  
Once the sun sinks behind the earth, Dick Grayson stops breathing and Robin starts moving.  


 

* * *

 

  
''P-please! Don't kill me! I -- I didn't know who was running the shipments! I beg of you, please -''  
  
''You are really getting on my nerves.''  
  
''I'll do anything! Please, don't kill me!''  
  
''It's not up to me, kid. If you're gonna beg, beg to Lady Luck.''  
  
The coin flies through the air, rays from a dim streetlight that should've been repaired long ago bouncing off its edges as it turns. The sound it makes when it hits the scarred palm feels a thousand times louder than it should be; along with the blood rushing through tight veins he can't hear much of anything else. Traffic should be alive and vibrant and people out and moving. Though, not the good kind of people. Never the good kind, at this hour.  
  
''Looks like your pleading fell on deaf ears, kid''  
  
''No --  _no please god don't_ \--''  
  
''God isn't here now. It's just us three, and I don't particularly care for odd numbers.''  
  
The scream of fear and panic and regret catches in his throat, rips out of him as the bullet pierces his jugular and his screams are lost in the blood that fills his mouth. It only takes a moment for him to bleed out, far longer to stop twitching. He closes his eyes just so the last thing he sees won't have to be that ugly, mutilated face.  
  
Silence falls over the area, but only for the briefest of moments before lazy applause breaks through the night. Two-Face spins fast on his feet and already has the gun aimed and ready, when that annoying little chuckle greets him.  
  
''Well, well, well'' Edward Nygma chuckles, good-naturedly but with a hint of smugness. ''Putting on quite a show there, Harvey''  
  
''Harvey's not --''  
  
The Riddler waves his hand.  
  
''Ooh, pfff. Tell me something that won't bore me to death.'' 

A lidless eye sends him a brutal glare.  
  
''You're behind this, Nygma?''  
  
The Riddler takes a disinterested look around at the dead small-fry littering the ground; glances over at the burnt truck and the spilled barrels of most probably illegal contents. As he puts two and two together he waves his cane and tips his hat, still smirking.  
  
''Say, Harvey, what's all this? Did you get this approved by the FDA?''  
  
''I don't have time for this!'' Two-Face growls as if the words are torn from his throat. It wouldn't surprise him but he suspects his growing indignation only amuses the green suited man. ''I'll give you to the count of two before I start shooting.''  
  
''That hardly seems fair, I just got here!''  
  
''And you can either leave on your own or in a body bag.''  
  
''Riddle me this -- ''  
  
''Here we go.''  
  
'' -- what's got an ugly mug and no manners?''  
  
''I can tell you what's green and about to have a head full of bullets.''  
  
Nygma rolls his eyes. ''Now, now, put that coin back. I didn't come here to bicker.''  
  
Two-Face growls, but Harvey puts the coin back in his pocket. The gun stays where it is, but Riddler doesn't mind that. He's stared into the barrel of a gun more times than he's stared into his bathroom mirror, it's almost to a point where he feels kind of lonely without it.  
  
''I'm not the one who tried to steal your goods. That is an enigma for another day.''  
  
''I don't suppose you know who did?''  
  
Riddler chuckles as he idly spins his cane, strolling about in circles around the other man. Very slowly Two-Face lowers the gun, and as he does an odd little glint twinkles in the Riddler's eyes.   
  
''Oh, I know, old friend. But that's not really what I'm here about.''  
  
''You're just here to annoy me, aren't you''  
  
''That too'' he nods. ''But that's only  _half_  the fun --'' when the gun rises to his face again his voice goes embarrassingly high pitched. ''Let's not get hasty! I do have serious things to discuss!''  
  
''Then you better start talking because I'm about to lose my patience.''  
  
''Ah, I know better than to test a man who has double. Stop pointing that at me!''   
  
He swaps the gun away and ducks the swing coming at his face. When at a safe distance from the other man, Riddler flicks his hat and sighs. Suddenly looking rather grim.  
  
''Harvey, have you noticed anything strange recently?'' The un-scarred side gives him a deadpan expression. Edward smacks his forehead lightly. ''Silly me, everything's strange in Gotham.''  
  
'' _Nygma --_ ''  
  
''A riddle for you --'' a scarred hand reaches for the coin. ''It's red and it's tiny and always in our way, except it's not!''  
  
''What?''  
  
The Riddler sighs. No one was ever good at games. The only one who ever got his riddles was also the man who usually beat him senseless and threw him behind bars. Always a price, it seems.  
  
''Have you noticed a sudden lack of something, lately?'' Harvey only looks more confused. ''Something of the... ornithological kind?''  
  
''Are you talking about the bird wonder?'  
  
''See, you're only half as dumb as you look!''  
  
''What  _about_  the brat?''  
  
''Well, I just assumed you hadn't gotten to practice your batting technique in a while and maybe you were... you know...''  
  
The laugh that surges forth like a stream of bile confuses him. Riddler watches Two-Face make a garbled, terrible version of a laugh as he shakes his head back and forth. He's not sure how he does it but with that one simple, awful sound Two-Face has managed to both disturb and insult him.  
  
''Why, Nygma? Are you getting worried? Getting a little... maternal?'' Two-Face scoffs as he tries to choke the laughter down, clears his throat and his voice sounds a bit rougher when he speaks next. ''Good thing you're funny, otherwise you'd be gone a long time ago.''  
  
Nygma crosses his arms, face tight with irritation and the teasing air to his body language has suddenly dissapear.  
  
''I'm just  _saying_  that I haven't seen the kid in months. No one has.''

''Oh, I'm not so sure about that.''  
  
Nygma cocks a brow.  
  
''Oh? Really? What do you know that I don't?''  
  
''You haven't heard?''  
  
''Heard what?'' his eyes widen in juvenile curiosity. ''Come on, Harvey don't be cruel.''  
  
''I've heard of some kid running around in the dark, lately. Beating people up quite brutally.'' he shrugs one shoulder. ''Could be nothing.''  
  
''I'm sensing a  _but_  here...''  
  
''But word is the kid's been fired.''  
  
''N _o!_ '' he draws back in shock, a hand thoughtfully against his chin. ''Batman  _firing_  his beloved sidekick? I never thought I'd see the day.''  
  
''That's the word, anyway. However credible the source is, is up for discussion.''  
  
Riddle looks at the ground in bemusement for a little while, then shakes his head in quiet resolve.   
  
''Not buying it. Something's up.''  
  
''Up?''   
  
''It just... It doesn't sound  _plausible_  that he...  _Why_? After four years?''  
  
''There's a riddle for ya.''  
  
Nygma glares, but Two-Face has had quite enough of small-talk and gossip.  
  
''I have to clean up this... accident. So if you're done I'm giving you my  _second_  warning --''  
  
''You've got to stop it with the puns, Harvey. It's getting old.''  
  
''Like I'm taking advice from the idiot with the cane shaped like a question mark.''  
  
The Riddler huffs irritably, but brushes the insult off just as quickly. Instead he makes a swift sweep with said cane around him, looking at the crude and misshapen bodies around them. Two-Face doesn't see what's so remarkable about it, but something about the way the Riddler scrunches his face tells him the man in the bowler hat isn't quite done with his lecture.  
  
''As much fun as this looks, I'm not here to nose around your petty quarrels.''  
  
''That'd be a first.''  
  
''Dent, I want to know what's going on.''  
  
''You always want to know, Nygma. That's your fetish and I don't need to be dragged into it. I have two handfuls of problems right here.''  
  
Riddler can't deny that the man has a point; he does need to know. Like a pull in the back of his gut, a screeching in his ear and itching in his fingertips. He  _has_  to find out what happened to the boy wonder, even if it kills him. There is no enigma he can leave unsolved, it just doesn't work that way. And Two-Face can mock and snarl and spit like the angry, ugly dog he is but Riddler knows him well enough after all these years to tell when Harvey Dent has a different opinion.  
  
''I say something rotten is going on here, Dent.''  
  
''Something rotten's always going on.''  
  
Harvey glares, he tired of the man's antics many minutes ago and it's only that tiny little part of him, hidden very deeply behind the scar tissue, that keeps him from ending the conversation.   
  
''Yes, but this is different''  
  
He does wonder. Not that he's about to admit it right out to the other, but he has been wondering for many weeks now whatever became of the caped crusader and his snotty little brat.  
  
''Different how?''  
  
Riddler gives a tiny, barely noticeable, little shiver.  
  
''Because this time it's  _personal._ ''

 

 

* * *

 

 

''This is an outrage!''  
  
Red Arrow only narrows his eyes as he pulls at the bowstring.  
  
''Batman may let your antics slide, Cobblepot, but I'm not going to be that forgiving''  
  
The man's chin bobbles and jiggles with an inhuman cackle. He wipes at his eye under the monocle and leans back into the sofa, looking much too calm for a man who has an arrow to his face.  
  
''You've got some nerve! Crashing my party and then accusing me of shady business. I'm insulted.'' the man laughs until he coughs. ''You sidekicks, always such awful guests.''  
  
''I'm  _not_  a sidekick''  
  
Cobblepot sucks in a breath that makes his nostrils quiver, moving as if he doesn't even see the arrow merely inches from his eyes.  
  
''Listen, I've been very patient with you, you little brat! You'e got to be when people crash through your sunroof every other day, pointing sharp things at you -- this isn't my first waltz at the banquet, and if there is a day when a Cobblepot lets himself be frightened by a child in garish tights, this is not the day and  _you_  are not that child!''  
  
Red Arrow frowns in poorly restrained anger. His fingers twitch as they long to let go of the arrow, but he keeps his control for just a little longer.  
  
''I know unlogged shipments have been making their way through the harbor, and I also know that the recipient of these shipments is a certain infamous district attorney.''  
  
''So? Dent's business is his alone. I don't associate with brutes, you know.''  
  
Roy leans in just a tiny little bit, barely enough for the arrow to graze the tip of the Penguin's nose, then lowers his voice to a threatening whisper.

   
''I also know that very same shipment got intercepted tonight, and I know how much those chemicals are worth on the market.''  
  
Cobblepot shrugs innocently.  
  
''Well, you would know more about that. I'm not into those types of markets.''  
  
''That's funny, because it was your goons doing the intercepting.''  
  
''Preposterous!''  
  
''Oh, is it? Because what I find preposterous is that you really thought I wouldn't find out.''  
  
''You insolent mongrel! These are very serious allegations! I do hope you have substantial proof to back this -- ''  
  
Roy holds up his phone, clicking through several incriminating pictures, stopping the large man in his tracks.  
  
''Ah. You do make a very convincing argument, my boy.''  
  
''Can we stop the bullshit now?''  
  
Oswald heaves a sigh. He makes a swirling gesture with his hand that almost succeeds in hiding his little signal. It's not subtle enough to pass the archer by unnoticed, so when a sudden fist aims for his head he is quick to dodge and counter. Soon enough his arrows are flying all over the place, blowing up very expensive furniture and gluing angry henchmen to shiny walls.   
  
Over the commotion the Penguin shouts at them to be careful --  _You'll be hearing from my lawyers!_ \-- but Roy ignores him with the learned patience of a teenager. The henchmen are swarming in by the dozen and though so far he's able to keep up, he's running out of good arrows -- </i>''Really, the Ming? That's very classy of you, very classy indeed!</i>'' -- and he is greatly outnumbered.   
  
Roy doesn't want to admit it to himself, and certainly not to them, but if the Penguin doesn't run out of people soon he is going to be in a very tight, very unpleasant position.  
  
''Why is he even  _here_?! Does Batman really think he can put Junior on the job and not think I will feel insulted?''  
  
''Oh, why don't you just shut up?!'' Roy aims his last foam-arrow at the man. In hindsight it's a bad move as he could really have used it on the newly incoming goons, but it's worth it just to get him to stop screeching.   
  
With the man squirming on the floor, the foam pressing harder and harder the more he moves like a liquid boa, Roy gets enough peace and quiet to work out a strategy. Though that plan doesn't do him much good anyway as he reaches for an arrow and grabs only air.

 

With a groan he jumps out of the way of an oncoming kick and instead takes a more direct approach with the bow, hitting his assailant across the jaw and sending him stumbling into an awkwardly placed aquarium. From behind him he can hear the muffled, horrified shrieking of a rich man watching his very rare breed of koi fall to the floor where they flop and twitch with dying gasps.   
  
He's just about to press his communicator and call for back-up, when a man hurtles towards him. Roy doesn't even have time to berate himself for not paying attention, and just when he tenses his body to prepare for the unavoidable blow to what he's anticipating to be his solar plexus, the attacking man is thrown backwards with a loud scream.   
  
Roy stares at the man in bewilderment for a while too long before he recognizes the red, circular object lodged into the henchman's jacket, pinning him to the wall.  
As the man struggles to free himself, three more of the same object cut through the air and pin him securely in place. Red Arrow doesn't even need to look up as a shadow falls over him; he already knows who it is leaping through the entrance he himself made moments prior.  
  
''Awful lot of commotion, guys! Come on, it's a school night!''  
  
Roy's eyes are wide in a mix of speechless incredulity and confused rage, along with the tiniest smidge of relief as he watches the younger boy land beside him. Robin gives him a strange look before he smirks. There's something strange about it, something Roy doesn't particularly like, and it makes him wary as he watches the boy flip away from him to battle what he really hopes is the last wave of henchmen.  
  
''Red Arrow, not that you don't look busy, but this would be a good time to skip the _dis_ and go right for the _concerted_!''  
  
Roy barely snaps out of his daze in time to block the hundredth punch being thrown his way. He says nothing as he battles the men, trying not to let the tiredness consume him. But his muscles are aching and it's getting hard to focus. He knows he won't be able to keep it up for long.  
  
Robin, on the other hand, is energetic, almost wild, as he moves through the room and the people so fast he's not much more than a blur of black and red. Roy feels something to be off, but it's not until moments later he realizes exactly what it is. Robin isn't holding back, at all, and it shows.   
  
His punches are brutal and merciless, his kicks swift and raw -- the fighting style isn't nearly as graceful or fluid as he's normally used to seeing it. Robin's style in combat has always been likened to that of a dance for as long as he's known the boy. Now it doesn't look much like a dance at all.  
  
More accurately, it looks like slaughter.  
  
''Robin, what --''  
  
''Behind you!''  
  
Roy ducks, spins and kicks, then looks to the other boy again. Robin has disposed of almost a third of the men, and their bodies look strange where they lie.  
  
''Robin, what are you doing here?!''  
  
''What? Not happy to see me?''  
  
''I thought you were off --''  
  
''Two o'clock!''  
  
He doesn't even look as he swings the bow out and, as expected, hits a henchman square across the face. The thud of his body hitting the floor is all he waits for before he starts making his way towards the other boy.   
  
Robin flips and jumps and does his usual routine, but it's wrong. It' all just wrong and strange and Roy doesn't like it. It's not just the brutal fighting, not just the utter disregard for the safety of other people -- even bad men deserved restraint with training like theirs -- there's something else, something that bothers him with the entire scene.  
  
''Robin, how did you -- ''  
  
''Red Arrow, look out!''  
  
Roy turns his head to look behind him but isn't quick enough. Before the knife has time to pierce him though, Robin has already moved much quicker and much quieter than Roy has time to react to. The boy manages to push him out of the way and in a tumbling mess of limbs roll the other man across the floor. With one swift kick of his feet, Robin hurtles the man away from him, after which he only leaves him seconds before he's got the man face down against the marble floor.  
  
Robin twists his arm behind his back until he screams.  
  
''Robin, enough!''

 

The smaller boy ignores him and twists a little further; the man screams a little louder.  
  
''Don't you know it's rude to try to stab people when they're having a conversation?'' Twist. ''Where are your manners huh?'' That blood-curdling scream which is only getting more desperate. Frightened. ''I am very disappointed in you, Mr. Henchman!''  
  
The man turns his head as much as he can to look pleadingly at him, because the pain won't let him scream any more, won't let him make a sound when Robin twists his body around and punches him. The fist is small but so very strong and hard and it hurts, it hurts as he hears a cacophony of crackling noises from his own face; sounds that no face should ever make.  
  
'' _Robin_!''  
  
Robin's fists are trembling. He wants to beg but his mouth is full of blood, teeth pierce through his lip, through the skin and scratches the boy's gloves. But Robin doesn't care. Doesn't pay it any mind as he keeps on hitting, each blow a little stronger than the other, each punch with a little more anger. The adrenaline is hot and cold at the same time, almost stinging as it courses through his veins and all he can hear in his head is the thump thump thump of his heart. The rush that it leaves him with is almost too good to be true.  
  
''Robin, you're  _bleeding_! Stop it!''  
  
Roy grabs his arms and lifts him off easily -- too easily, when did he get this small? -- and it's just in the nick of time as the man is about to lose consciousness. Roy doesn't spare any time to be gentle, just throws the thirteen-year-old off and away. Far, far away from the other man before he rushes to his side. Roy screams at the henchman to focus, asks if he can hear him and when the henchman reaches for Roy's arm and gives it a little squeeze, he whispers a drowned, blood stained  _thank you_.  
  
And that's all Roy needs to lose control.  
  
''What are you  _doing?!_  Have you lost your  _mind_?!''  
  
Robin only frowns at him.

   
''Relax, Red, I was only --''  
  
''What is going on with you?! What the  _hell_  did you think you were doing?!''  
  
Then Robin gets angry, because Roy has no reason to speak to him like that. He hasn't done anything wrong.  
  
''I'm doing my  _job_!''  
  
''Oh, really?! Because last time I checked, you were  _benched_!''  
  
''Yeah, well, regardless of what you might think, I do have a will of my own! I'm not tethered to Batman's wrist. I can go on patrol if I want to!''  
  
Roy feels a sour laugh that doesn't quite reach his mouth.  
  
''Oh, okay, so the reason you're out when Batman is out of town is only a coincidence?''  
  
Robin gets to his feet, winces at the sudden jolt of paint through his back -- feels like a pinched nerve, a gash, maybe -- and glares at him through the mask.  
  
''What is your deal, anyway? Is it too much to ask for the great Red Arrow to show a little appreciation?''  
  
''I would  _appreciate_  it if you didn't just try to kill a man!''  
  
''I didn't try to kill him!'' Robin throws his hands out in frustration. ‘'I was helping you! I was -- Oh, this is the team all over again!''  
  
Robin turns away from him so harshly the cape flutters. Roy's suddenly having a hard time gathering his words.  
  
''I -- what?''  
  
''Look, it's fine, I get it! You guys don't think I can handle it! You don't want me around, whatever, I get that! But just say it to my damn face instead of blaming it on my fighting!''  
  
''There's... are.... you  _have_  lost your mind.''  
  
Robin clenches his fists, releases them at the sudden pain that blooms in the bone. His voice is strained when he speaks.   
  
''I am so sick of this.'' 

''Well, welcome to the club!'' Roy rests a hand against his hip as he uses the other to gesture violently at the other. ''You know, I didn't really believe it at first, but now I see it's worse than the others let on.''  
  
Something rips through Robin's body like an avalanche. Something cold and inhuman as all his emotions rise and scream within him. The look on his face is the look of someone Roy doesn't know. Someone he doesn't want to know.

  
''You know what?'' Robin pulls his lips back to reveal a row of teeth. Though it tries to be, it's not enough to make a smile. ''I don't need you. I don't need you or the team or Batman to tell me what to do. I can  _do_  this!''  
  
''Robin.''  
  
'' _What_?''  
  
Roy has absolutely no idea of what he can possibly say.   
  
''You know what, Red? I don't care.''  
  
Robin scoffs and turns around with his hands held up to signify his resignation. Without as much as a look, he takes out his grapple hook and gets ready to aim it, but he doesn't trigger it just yet.  
  
''I trust you can bag 'em on your own.''  
  
Roy opens his mouth, but all that leaves it is an unhelpful sigh.  
  
Then Robin is gone, out through the roof and lost in the night. Roy half expects a laugh to follow him, to echo long and disturbing between the walls but it never comes.   
  
Instead there is just an oppressing, crushing nothingness; interrupted only by the odd groaning of pain and Cobblepot's muffled, self-satisfied cackle from behind.


	10. Ten

It's hard enough to keep his hands from trembling; keeping his voice stable and eyes focused only adds to the challenge.  
  
''Mr. Grayson, did you hear me?''  
  
Dick swallows down hard, against the lump and the tightness of his chest which is only getting more forceful. He tries to look more shocked than he really feels. After all, he expected this.  
  
''Shape up or go to court. Got it.''  
  
''Mr. Grayson, I don't think you see the seriousness in your situation.''  
  
Mr. Carter is a fair man, but neither gentle nor very pleasant when on his bad side. Right at this moment Dick is deep into that territory, but can't find it in him to feel much about it.   
  
The teacher goes on to chastise him, as he has been doing these past fifteen minutes, about how he is squandering his talent, his great mind and youth and what an  _opportunity_  it is for him to be this young and so far ahead. How his father pays good money to keep him in this school and what a privilege it is for someone of his  _background_  to get this chance. Dick doesn't say a word, which he thinks could only be making the man angrier.  
  
''Dick, you're wasting your life and potential here. When did you get this  _lazy_?''  
  
Somewhere in this madness he forgot what it’s like to try. Forgot what it’s like to have enough energy to actually do anything. Mr. Carter doesn't know that, doesn't know that he's  _tired_  and maybe he's right. Maybe they're all right. Maybe he's just a lazy, ungrateful brat and maybe it's  _his_  fault, all of this.

  
''I...''  
  
Maybe they're expecting too much of him and he can't help the anger growing in him. Lazy? Dick's been pulling all-nighters since he was ten to keep up with school, has always done his best at absolutely everything. Extra credit, extracurricular activities, always does the workload for the group assignments, always on time and always hands everything in no sooner than when it’s absolutely perfect. Dick's a good student. He  _has_  to be.  
  
''Mr. Grayson, I don't want you to get into trouble. I know you can do better, which is why I've let it slide this long.''  
  
And maybe they're all asking him to climb a damn mountain. He wants to scream at them, scream how they're inconsiderate and don't know even half the story. Don't know it's hard to focus when your mind is alive with the panic of sudden death, death that never comes and that he's itching itching itching inside his own skin. Nothing is as it's supposed to be, nothing is  _right_  and he's so dizzy all the time but they don't know that. They can never know and because of this Dick says nothing. Merely swallows down the disappointment in the teacher's voice and takes his word for what it is.  
  
''I know that, sir.''  
  
He's a lazy, useless, spoiled idiot. He should be ashamed of himself.  
  
''All the other teachers had half a mind reporting you weeks ago. Ms. Lund is the only one holding them at bay but this is  _ridiculous_. Your class attendance is miserable! And the essay you handed in? Did you even  _look_  at the instruction sheet?''  
  
And he _is_ ashamed. Just not for the right reasons.  
  
''I'm sorry, Mr. Carter.''  
  
''Are you? Are you really? Because you don't look very sorry.''  
  
Dick sighs.  
  
''With all due respect, sir, what do you want me to say?''   
  
Dick knows his voice is getting snappy, knows the polite smile he only barely kind of put any effort into is cracking at the edges. He knows it's all falling apart, unraveling like a wet piece of paper but he can't find it in himself to care.  
  
Mr. Carter lowers his glasses to give him a solemn look.  
  
''I don't want you to say anything. I want you to stop joking around and stop wasting your father's money. Stop wasting my  _time_ , Mr. Grayson. Ms. Lund might feel like using special treatment but I am a professional and I won't stand for your insolence any longer. You either get it together or you're going to court.''  
  
Dick puts his hands in his pockets, not because of the trembling anymore, as much as the relentless urge to punch the older man. Unhinge his jaw, break his nose, crack his eye open, cut his lip on his teeth --  
  
''Do you understand, Mr. Grayson?''  
  
Dick sighs.  
  
''I understand.''

 

* * *

  

 

Artemis has been to the bathroom once, in her attempts to find him, but she didn't stay for long as a muffled sobbing from one of the stalls made her turn and flee. She's not proud of her sudden loss of resolve, but doesn't have much time to beat herself up about it. The others tell her to leave him alone, that if he wants to be stubborn there is nothing to do to change his mind; but they forget that she's stubborn, too.  
  
She's in that same old bathroom again when she hears the strict breathing from a person who doesn't want to be found. She briefly considers leaving him alone again, feels cruel to bother him when he's distressed, but changes her mind just before she has the time to touch the door knob. They've been leaving him alone for too long already, and though the others are rigid at least she can be big enough to admit when an approach isn't working.  
  
''Dick?'' the word comes out close to a whisper, and for the next few seconds she doesn't dare to breathe.   
  
There is silence that meets her first and she starts to wonder if maybe she's mistaken. Maybe there's someone else in that stall, like a girl who got rejected by her crush or one of the bullied kids hiding from the others.  
  
''What do you want?''  
  
The voice is rough, like he's dehydrated, and she draws a breath of relief.  
  
''There you are! I've been looking all over for you!''  
  
He hesitates before he responds.  
  
''Why?''  
  
Artemis crosses her arms though she knows he can't see her. Leaning against the counter she makes herself comfortable enough to stay for as long as necessary. Dick wants to be stubborn about it, but two can play that game.  
  
''Your redhead is getting worried about you.''  
  
Dick is too close to say 'Wally' but stops himself in time to only let out a strangled little sound. His heart swells momentarily before it shrinks back again when he remembers that the two are no longer on speaking terms. It stirs within him a very potent, very peculiar kind of hurt.  
  
''So why are you here but she's not?''  
  
Artemis sighs and strokes her hair in an awkward gesture.  
  
''Well, fine, I admit I'm a bit worried about you too.''  
  
She can't be certain, but she thinks he might be glaring at her through the stall door. It certainly feels like he is.  
  
''Why?''  
  
''What do you mean why?'' Artemis voice gets vicious, snapping at him. ''Why wouldn't I?''  
  
''Because we're not friends?'' Dick has a voice like he's telling her something obvious, like she's some special kind of idiot for not knowing this.  It makes her want to kick the entire stall down before she remembers that he doesn't know that she knows. To him she's just another stranger, or acquaintance, maybe.   
  
''What can I say? You're growing on me.''  
  
When it's clear that his intentions are to ignore her until she simply goes away, Artemis sighs and knocks on the door.  
  
''Dick, come on.''  
  
''Go away!''  
  
''Young man, I may not look like much but I assure you I can and  _will_  force you out of there if I have to.''  
  
Dick won't let himself be scared and only pulls his arms tighter around his knees as he waits for her to tire. Artemis glares at the door for another moment before she opens the stall next to his and quietly gets inside. Plopping herself down on the toilet she idly inspects the scribbled  _Tina is a skank_  and the  _I <3 Superman_ that the cleaning people couldn't wash off. Dick's breathing is getting more strained and fast-paced and Artemis can't help but feel a little stressed about it.  
  
They spend about fifteen more minutes in complete and utterly uncomfortable silence before she decides to try again.  
  
''It's been almost two weeks.''  
  
''What?''  
  
Artemis is glad he can't see the discomfort on her face.  
  
''Well, I mean, the stomach bug should be gone by now.''  
  
Dick doesn't reply, which feels slightly worse than whatever snide comment she's sure he had prepared for her.  
  
''What's going on, circus boy?''  
  
''It's none of your business.''  
  
''I admit Psychology isn't my favorite class but even I know that this is a bit much to blame on an alleged Panic Disorder.''  
  
She hears him suck a sharp breath through tightly gritted teeth.  
  
''Are you insinuating I'm a liar?''  
  
''I'm insinuating you're hiding something from me.''

 

He stiffly puts his feet on the floor and at first it has her heart throb in anticipation, maybe even excitement as it seems he's finally stopped being such an uptight prick about things. When he turns the lock of the stall and steps out, she's fast on her feet to do the same; but when she tries to open the door it won't budge, and Artemis realizes the little brat is blocking it.  
  
'' _Don't_  follow me, okay?''  
  
''Cut it out, you twerp! Let me out!''  
  
''We're not friends, I don't even  _know_  you and even if I did, it's none of your business so just back off, okay?''  
  
''I'm not joking, Grayson, I will kick the door down with you under it!''  
  
Dick glares and hopes that somehow she can sense it.  
  
''Don't. Come. After. Me.''  
  
Artemis says nothing, and Dick draws a quiet, shaking breath as it seems like she's gotten the point. He gets off her stall door and prepares to leave quickly, when Artemis makes reality of her promise and kicks the door open. Dick, unprepared and unfocused, is caught by surprise which allows the door to throw him violently across the floor. When Artemis steps out she only looks slightly guilty about it.  
  
''I told you.''  
  
''Son of a -- ''  
  
'' _Watch_  your mouth''  
  
Dick mutters something inaudible but she has no doubts that it's very rude, then wipes at his mouth as he tries to get to his feet. Only now does she realize how much force she put into the kick and how badly she could have injured him; it's so easy to forget how off his game he is and as much as she tries to ignore it, pretend that he's sharp and focused and that nothing can ever surprise him, she can't ignore the blood he spits into the sink.  
  
''Oh, oh, crap, I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you badly?''  
  
Dick waves her off bitterly.  
  
''It's nothing.''  
  
Her lips quirk slightly at that, and she wants to comment something about taking punches from supervillains but stops herself in the right moment. Instead she watches him with a steady gaze as he runs the tap and washes the blood off, pressing a bit of paper against his lip as it refuses to stop bleeding. He's kind of annoyed, too, because it had just healed and then she has to go bust it up again. Dick doesn't look at her directly but steals a glance or two through the mirror. He looks pale, is the first thing she notices.   
  
''You look awful.''   
  
Dick turns slowly towards her, she can't tell if he's just not very keen on talking to her or if it's the movement itself that's the problem. It looks like it could be either, or both, really.  
  
''Thanks.''  
  
Artemis wonders whether she should ask him, tell him that she knows who he is. Ask if he wants to come back. As much as he looks like he could need it, he doesn’t seem to be in the best of shape. Dick throws the paper away as his lip has stopped bleeding, finally, and hides his shaking hands in his pockets, hoping she won't notice. But it's a pretty useless action; his entire body is quivering, yet Artemis decides not to mention it.  
  
''Rumors are going around lately.''  
  
''Aren't they always?'' Dick says dryly. Gone is the vibrant glow she's so used to hearing in his voice.   
  
''People say you're on cocaine. Or terminally ill.''  
  
Dick scoffs. He's used to the gossip. Even though he tries his best to be inconspicuous, every once in a while a bruise shows. He's had everything from leukemia to brain tumors, and as much as he tries he can't think of anyone at the school who hasn't been accused of doing drugs.   
  
''Comes with the life style, I guess''  
  
''Oh, right, the poor rich kid. I forget.''  
  
Dick rolls his eyes and winces.  
  
''Are we done now? I'm hoping you didn't knock me over so we could spend the day gossiping.''  
  
She surprises him when she lashes out and slams her fist against the counter, confuses him with the pure fury in her eyes and the tired, almost desperate frustration to her voice.  
  
''Would you quit making jokes about this?!''  
  
Dick frowns.  
  
''Sorry. It's in the blood. The show must go on and all.''  
  
''Do you ever quit?!''

 

Dick doesn't respond for a long, long while, and instead all she has to listen to is the painful echo of her own yelling. Artemis feels a bit guilty about it but refuses to let her facial expression soften. She wants him to know how furious she is, wants him to know that she's worried. It's something she needs him so desperately to understand, and maybe for that reason it's also the hardest thing to get through his head.   
  
Dick only looks at her with the detached indifference of a stranger.   
  
''I was raised not to'' he says.   
  
There's something else in there; in his voice, something she can't quite pick up which makes her skin crawl.  
  
''Now can you move out of my way? I'm late to --''  
  
The slap is swift and unexpected. Even Artemis has to stare in wild disbelief as if she has no control of her body, no idea of what she’s just done. Dick brings a hand to his cheek but otherwise no one moves, every thought stops in its track as the sound of the slap reverberates and grows between the walls.  
  
It hurts in a familiar kind of pain as images rush to his eyes and reality blends into memory, in and out and in and out and momentarily he loses focus --  _no_  no he has to calm down, has to remain collected because Artemis is there and it's bad enough he has to dream about it, he doesn't need to relive it when he's awake and ohgodohgod -- Dick was doing so well, he hasn't had a flashback in so long and oh god but the walls are grey and dirty and dingy and he feels like choking as nothing burns as bright or hot or strong as the pain in his cheek and --  
  
_''There, there, Robin, don't cry. It will be alright if you let it._ ''  
  
Dick knows he needs to get out of there, so he rushes for the door and pushes her out of the way but she's so much stronger than him -- when did she get so strong? -- and she only sways a little as Dick hurtles straight into the wall behind her, misses the door and falls to his knees. He stumbles up to his feet again, slides against the slippery tiles lining the walls like a deer with broken knees.  
  
It pains her so unbelievably to watch.  
  
''Dick, wait!'' she croaks, but he's already pulling desperately at the door handle.  
  
It won't budge won't budge he's trapped he's trapped he's  _trapped_    
  
''Dick -- Robin!''  
  
Dick freezes in his movements like a statue when every muscle goes rigid. She clasps her mouth shut tight but it's already too late, the words have already left her and it feels as they sucked her soul out with them.   
  
''... no.''  
  
Dick shakes his head and whispers over and over again that single, broken little  _nononononononononono **no**_. She wants to tell him something that will make it better but she fears she's already said too much.  
  
''I'm sorry, I didn't intend to find out but I mean, it's kind of  _obvious_  really, when you look at it and -- and I'm sorry''  
  
She doesn't know exactly what she's sorry for but the regret is genuine.  
  
''Dick, you... It's alright. You don't have to lie to me, I  _know_  what --''  
  
''You don’t know  _anything_!'' he screams at her and it hits so hard she has to take a step backwards. His eyes are wide and panicked and brimming with what she really hopes isn't tears -- is it supposed to be possible to make the boy wonder cry? -- and Artemis feels like the worst person in the world for some reason. ''You don't know! You don't and I don't want you to so leave me alone! Please, Artemis, just go away!''  
  
The last sentence won't carry as strongly as the previous have done and he tilts his head in resignation. Lets go of the door handle and slides into a crumpled sitting position on the floor, like someone took a paper and threw it. He rocks back and forth, all the while repeating that same old  _nonononononopleasegodno_  with a tired, futile whisper.  
  
Artemis wishes she'd have left him alone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

''Yes, the brats were here. Isn't it obvious?''  
  
He motions a gloved, deformed hand towards the ceiling which is covered in tape and ripped plastic. A poor substitute for the glass that’s previously occupied the space, but better than the draft of cold air that would otherwise so viciously rip through.   
  
The Riddler gives a tiny smirk.  
  
''That's fortunate for us, less fortunate for you. Tell me, Cobblepot, what did you do to deserve such vandalism?''  
  
The Penguin snorts loudly, his tiny eyes filled with disdain and mistrust as he watches them over the brim of a cocktail glass.  
  
''Why do you imbeciles care, anyway?''  
  
Two-Face growls, standing further off in the room to distance himself from the conversation. His arms crossed he looks about as reluctant as an animal about to get castrated, but despite his display of disgust Riddler hardly had to fight to get him to come along.  
  
''Can't you tell?'' Nygma says as he leans against his cane. ''It's a riddle, Cobblepot. A very complicated one, at that.''  
  
''Freaks'' he scoffs out behind the glass. When Two-Face glares at him he is hasty to take a big sip. ''So, gentlemen, what can I do for you?''  
  
''You can start by telling us what you know'' Two-Face steps closer into the conversation, looming in front of the sofa like a storm cloud.   
  
The Riddler nods in agreement but doesn't do much more. It's easier to let Harvey handle it, he finds, as the man has a skill for forcing information out of the most slippery of men. Edward doesn't much like getting his hands dirty.  
  
''Why, gentlemen, I hardly know anything. They crashed in here, accused me of things and left!''  
  
''As much as I know superheroes like to barge in on things, I know there's more to the story.''  
  
Cobblepot puts the glass down and snarls.  
  
''Why should I tell you anything, anyway? Huh?'' he jabs the taller man with an umbrella. Only Nygma seems to find it odd that he has so many lying around. ''All you've ever been is an awful visitor! I don't feel much like helping a rude, classless thug like yourself''  
  
The only sign of his indignation is a tiny little twitch of the lip; not that it matters, even with a clear warning Oswald is too slow to escape the scarred hand that reaches out for his neck with the speed and aggression of a cobra. Strong fingers squeeze at his throat and lose themselves in the flesh; the lack of oxygen like thunder through his skull.  
  
''I'm not fooling around here, Penguin'' his voice is awful and low, the threat stronger with each syllable while his grip tightens. The round man thrashes and waves his arms, trying to get out of the grip, but his movements weaken as the air supply is fully strangled, and not until he hears something crack strangely somewhere inside does he raise his hands in surrender.  
  
Two-Face has barely enough patience to wait for him to stop coughing before he continues.  
  
''Well?''  
  
''I should have you hanged!'' he wipes the spit from his mouth and straightens his clothes while giving the other a nasty look. ''But since you're asking so  _nicely_ , I suppose I have a thing or two that might be of interest.''  
  
''Such as..?'' the Riddler gestures with his hand for him to go on.  
  
''The archer buffoon's kid, what's his name... Speedy --''  
  
''I hear it's Red Arrow, now''  
  
''Who cares? Speedy came in here, making a real mess, accusing me of things when --''  
  
''What things?''  
  
''It will be in your best interest to stop  _interrupting_  me, Riddler!''

 

Two-Face glares at his partner in crime until the Riddler, reluctantly, shuts his mouth.  
  
''It was nothing important.'' Cobblepot waves his hands quickly before Two-Face has the time to direct his glare at him. ''Anyway, I send my guards on him and before I know it, the bird arrives to ruin my aquarium.''  
  
He never did find out who really took his goods -- something that turned into a bit of an annoyance but he hasn't really had the time to investigate it with Riddler nagging him to come along. It's hard enough as it is, and Nygma is very persistent   
  
''That's all very interesting'' he says with a tone that indicates the opposite ''but not very helpful.''  
  
''Why do you care where the brat is, anyhow?''  
  
Two-Face only glances at Riddler, who rolls his eyes.  
  
''You people'' he throws the cane up and catches it before it has a chance to fall, then strolls with long steps over to the two. ''I  _care_  because something bad is happening in  _my_  city and I want to know what and why. I know you two aren't used to using your brains that much but it doesn't take a genius, such as myself, to know that we should get all the information that we can here. This concerns us all, I'm sure.''  
  
The Penguin scoffs.  
  
''Well, as far as I know the kid's been benched.''  
  
''Why?''  
  
The Penguin glares thinly at him.  
  
''What did I tell you about interrupting?''  
  
''Right. Sorry.''  
  
''As I was saying... He's been pulled out of duty.'' He keeps his gaze on the other until he's certain Riddler won't say anything. ''From what I saw last night, he's not very... stable. Nearly killed one of my men.''  
  
''You saying he could be the maniac running around kicking people's heads in?'' Two-Face says, voice oddly contemplative.  
  
''How come he gets to interrupt?'' Nygma pouts but is silenced by the jab of a sharp umbrella tip.  
  
''I'm  _saying_  that the bird wonder is losing his wits! It's really rather tasty to see.''  
  
''I bet.''  
  
They have all waited for this day, for the fall of the dynamic duo, and the reign they would have after it. But to actually see it come to fruition, it’s strange. Two-Face had himself nearly killed the boy once, and there wasn't a villain in town who hadn't tried to do the same. Maybe the strangeness was that it wasn't by their hands, that it wasn't  _their_  victory. Maybe they've all grown so accustomed to the way things are, a world without the boy wonder seems odd. A dead Robin was a good bird, but a living bird with anger management issues... Well, Harvey isn't sure how to feel about that.  
  
''Someone got into our territory'' he mangles the words through his throat. ''Someone got into  _our_  town and broke  _our_  enemy and now we're left with the scraps?'' he snorts, though unamused. ''Do you know what's happened?''  
  
''I don't have the full details but...'' Cobblepot smiles a disgusting kind of smile. ''I know someone took him and I may or may not know where they are.''  
  
Two-Face and the Riddler exchange one brief, understanding glance, before Harvey's hand is back around the Penguin's neck; pushing him deep into the backrest.  
  
''Talk.'' Harvey growls. ''And don't you dare lie to me.''

 

* * *

 

 

She sits with him for what feels like hours. She doesn't speak or move or in any other way indicate her presence. It seems like he forgets from time to time that she's there, and at others he's painfully aware of her. Dick doesn't look at her, looks at something far away she herself can't find, hugs his limbs closely to his body and whispers.   
  
Artemis blocks the door when on three occasions students try to enter, yells at them that she's on her period and just got dumped and if they dare to enter she's going to make them regret it. No one bothers them after that.  
  
Dick keeps apologizing but she doesn't know for what. If it's even to her. Keeps rocking and crying and asking for forgiveness for a crime she doesn't know about. Keeps asking to go home but when she tries to reach for his cell-phone to call someone he simply screams.  
  
Artemis isn't stupid, she recognizes a panic attack when she sees one and there are few things she can think of that the boy must be upset about. She knows it can't be much else than the torture -- or , what does she really know about him? There could be countless of things, really -- and she wants to leave, but finds herself unable to move. It feels wrong to let him sit there by himself, to let him be alone. She wants to tell him that he's everything  _but_  alone in this but her throat has collapsed on itself and the words just can't make it through.  
  
She wants to reach out for him, but the moment she tries she only worsens the situation. How is she supposed to comfort someone who won't let her near him?  
Eventually she can't think of anything but to get her communicator.  
  
Wally doesn't ask why she's with him, and when she tells him of their location, he doesn't seem surprised. She doesn't ask him if or how he knows, and in return he doesn't ask her. Simply trusts in her, for once, and is outside the window in seconds. Artemis can't hide her surprise. Without a word she is quick to her feet and lets him inside before anyone has a chance to see him. Wally gives her the briefest of glances before he crouches down in front of the other boy.  
  
''Dick?''  
  
Dick refuses to look at him, just keeps himself curled up against the wall with his arms over his head. Seeking shelter from something Wally doesn't want to know.  
  
''Hey, buddy. I know you can hear me.''  
  
Well, Wally doesn't, not really. He's just not very good at these things, so he says whatever comes to mind. What people on TV always say to each other and hopes that it will all work out. Wally's been in the hero business for a while, but never really had to comfort any of the victims he's run across. To be honest, he's kind of glad because this is his best friend - not some random stranger - and even now he's not doing much of a good job.  
  
''Dick, you can't sit here forever. You're gonna grow moss. Gonna have to call you... Moss... boy. Okay, I admit, that was a bad one.''  
  
Artemis watches him in morbid fascination, has no clue where he's going with his strange tactics but comes up short with any ideas of her own. So she trusts him to know what he's doing because it's better than anything she can think of.  
  
''Wally'' Dick presses out through quiet, muffled sobs, face still pressed tightly against his knees. ''What're you doing here you can't -- shouldn't be here what if they --''  
  
''They're not here, Dick. It's just you and me.''  
  
''But they're - - it's -- ''  
  
Dick doesn't dare to look up in case this is a trick. In case they're playing mind games with him and it would hurt so much to believe for a second that Wally is there, only to have him snatched away. It would be even worse if he really was there, because then the same cruelty would be done to him.   
  
''I won't tell them, won't tell them --''  
  
Wally frowns.  
  
''Dick. I want you to look at me and I want you to pay attention now, okay?''  
  
Dick doesn't respond, but turns his eyes up hesitantly. When their gazes meet Wally's overcome by dread.  
  
''See, dude? I'm totally here. All of Walman.''

 

His tone is joking but his eyes aren't in on it; despite that, Dick allows himself to believe him. For some reason that hurts even more.  
  
''You're in the bathroom of Gotham Academy --'' at the sudden panic in his eyes Wally puts up a calming hand. ''It's okay. They won't come in. You're safe here, okay?''  
  
Dick isn't sure what happened but can guess; he hears the breathing of Artemis and wants nothing more than to sink through the ground. No one is supposed to see him like this, especially not them. They're supposed to think he's strong. It's bad enough he can't keep himself from breaking down at home, at night in his room but like this? No, this isn't how it's supposed to go.  
  
He's supposed to protect  _them_.  
  
But it doesn't really matter, at the moment. When he looks at Wally, soft and kind-hearted Wally, it doesn't matter that he's still angry with him or that Wally probably doesn't want to be there. It doesn't matter that Artemis has seen him weak and stupid like a helpless child and it doesn't matter that he should crawl into a space somewhere and never come out. Doesn't matter because all that really does matter is that Wally's there and Dick doesn't want to carry it anymore. Can't take it when it's this lonely and empty and scary and he just misses him so much. So unbelievably, unbearably much.  
  
''Can I touch you?'' Wally says and his voice is soft and understanding, even if he doesn't understand at all. ''Is that okay?''  
  
Dick doesn't reply with words, only grabs a hold of his friend's frame and buries himself into his shoulder and hopes that he won't ever have to let go. Wally smiles, slightly, behind the mess of black hair that's escaped the gel and slowly, and so very gently, brings his arms around him. Dick doesn't care that he's not supposed to cry. Doesn't care that he's supposed to be so much better than this. All he wants right now is to not be good, not be strong and independent. All Dick wants to do is feel Wally's warmth and hide.  
  
''I'm sorry'' he breathes behind sobs he's stopped fighting. ''I'm sorry, I'm sorry''  
  
''Dude, we've been over this. No harm, no foul.''  
  
''I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry -- please, be real, please,  _please_  be real''  
  
Wally holds him a little tighter. Artemis bites her lip a little harder.  
  
''I'm real, buddy. I'm real.''

 

 

* * *

 

 

It didn't look like the school nurse was going to budge at first. She had suggested some ibuprofen and offered Artemis to rest a while on the cot, but the blonde had been stubborn and most of all loud. She feared she'd have to resort to fake crying, but it turned out that if you only yelled enough, eventually the nurse would let you go.   
  
She was excused for the rest of the day and Wally was quick to pick her up, hoping he'd figure out all the details as he went along. He had left earlier with Dick, who hadn't wanted to be in school any longer, and Wally didn't have it in him to argue.   
  
Artemis holds her breath the entire way over and Alfred doesn't say a word as he lets them in.  
  
The first thing they want to do is ask to see him, check that he's alright, but one look at them has Alfred usher them into the kitchen for a nice glass of lemonade. They try to argue, but it's of no use. While he has the two occupied, the butler quietly disappears from the kitchen and moves towards the young master's room. The door is closed but unlocked and he only hesitates for a moment before he gently knocks.  
  
''Master Dick?''  
  
Dick is quiet for a little while. His body tenses during the moment it takes for his brain to fully recognize the voice; when he realizes it's just Alfred part of him is disappointed, though relieved.  
  
''It's open.''  
  
The boy's face is turned away but he keeps a steady watch through his peripheral. It's enough to know where Alfred is without having to engage in any direct eye contact.

   
''Hey, Alf''  
  
''I suppose it would be pointless to ask if you are alright?''  
  
Alfred smiles slightly when Dick simply looks at him. Eyes wide, incredulous and blue, much as they were that day many years ago. Everything was new back then and most of that change was not for the best of reasons. It had been a trying time, one the older man had feared on many occasions would prove to be a challenge much too great. But with faith comes perseverance, and it will take many more years and many more of those looks before Alfred relinquishes that faith.  
  
''What's on your mind, Alfie?''  
  
The butler smiles softly. The boy knows him too well already.  
  
''Young master Wallace and miss Artemis are in the kitchen.''  
  
Dick's face instantly sours. He doesn't feel very much like talking to Wally, mostly he's ashamed, but also frightened. There aren't any clear memories of their fight but he knows he wasn't very collected, and probably a lot of things were said that shouldn't have been. Besides, Wally made his point clear last time. Dick's a burden to him, and it's unfair to make Wally deal with everything when it isn't really his problem.   
  
It's bad enough he had a breakdown - a breakdown that shouldn't have happened had he only stayed focused and handled it like an adult -- Dick doesn't know how he can help the situation, besides avoiding the speedster even more. But Alfred won't stop looking at him in that special way, the way that tells him there is some damage control to do.  
  
''Master Dick, I do not know what the two of you have been quarreling about but if my experience has told me something, it is that it is probably something silly.''   
  
As Dick doesn't respond but merely stares at a spot on the far wall, Alfred lets out a sigh.   
  
''Master Dick, I do not think it is well to alienate those close to you. Now, you can either keep on ignoring your friends as you have for these last few weeks, or you can pull yourself together, be the person I know that you are and do the right thing.''  
  
''But Alfred, I think I was really mean...''  
  
''All the more reason to reconcile with him. Richard, are you going to be hiding here forever?''  
  
''I'd like to.''   
  
Dick shrugs innocently. Alfred refuses surrender, instead his face is resolute; stern in a way Dick has always found unsettling.  
  
''Rest assured, I am not making you any more excuses. I have been enabling you for far too long.''

 

Dick sighs.  
  
''I don't even know what I'd say.''  
  
''Such is the beauty of a good friendship'' Alfred tilts his head just the tiniest, a peculiar twinkle in his eye and Dick, who thought it would be easier in time to learn to ignore him, finds that with each passing year Alfred gets a tad better at talking him into things. ''Most often words are not required.''  
  
He eyes the butler for a good long while before his shoulders slump in resignation. He's much too tired to argue, much too beaten to resist. It's not going to be easy but he has to talk to Wally eventually, even if it's the last time. Maybe the sooner the better, and he will have one less person to burden. One last thing to keep him grounded.  
  
''I guess now is as good a time as any'' he says, but the words are difficult to muster.  
  
Alfred gives a small nod.  
  
''I believe so, master Dick.''  


 

* * *

  
  
  
Wally looks uncomfortable when he appears, hovering awkwardly in the doorway like he's afraid to touch the floor.   
  
''Hey, shorty.''  
  
''Hey.''  
  
The way his voice carries is something Wally doesn't appreciate, nor the way Dick seems to try his hardest to avoid looking at him. There are a lot of things he doesn't appreciate with the scene, but supposes it's what he has to work with.  
  
''Can I... can I come in?''  
  
Dick spins the desk chair slowly back and forth but puts little enthusiasm into it.   
  
''Sure.''  
  
Wally tries not to think too much about the curt replies; tries not to think at all because it will only end up with overthinking. Nothing good ever came of him considering things too much. Still, it's hard to keep his thoughts from racing. With badly coordinated movements Wally decides to place himself on the bed. Fiddling with his hands he forces himself to look at the other boy.  
  
''So...'' Wally says after a while of torturous nothingness. ''I... uh...''  
  
''It's okay to just say it.''   
  
Dick's eyes are a hard shield against the emotions that lie hidden in his voice. Or maybe it's just a shield against Wally, the older boy can't really tell.  
  
''Say what?''  
  
Dick looks at his friend in a way that tells you bad news are coming, the kind of look only doctors or rescue teams and social workers have. It sends shivers down his spine, makes it tremble with fear and anticipation as Wally sucks his breath in and neglects to let it back out.  
  
''You don't have to sugarcoat it. I mean, I'd understand completely if... It  _is_  too much. I get that.''  
  
''Dude, what are you talking about?'' Wally frowns, he knows the words are supposed to mean something, but they sound foreign to his mind like his vocabulary has been momentarily erased. He searches the other's face for something clearer, something to tell him what's about to happen but nothing really prepares him when Dick leans his head against his palm and mumbles.  
  
''I understand if you don't... If we can't... If we can't be friends, anymore.''  
  
Wally only blinks.  
  
'' _What_?''  
  
''I'm saying I get it if you don't... If you don't want to be friends anymore.'' His voice is hard with anger, annoyance at having to say it out loud; to have to make it real. ''I mean, I hoped it wouldn't get to that but I understand -- ''  
  
''Where'd you get  _that_  idea from?!''  
  
  
''Yeah, well, I don't know, you seemed really eager to get rid of me before.''  
  
''Oh, will you take off your crown, drama queen?''  
  
A look of confusion spreads across Dick's face. Wally forgets how to form words because really, Dick shouldn't have to look like that. There shouldn't have to be any doubt about their friendship and Wally doesn't know if he should be more angry at himself or at Dick for even having those doubts in the first place.  
  
''Come on, birdbrain. You think I'd dump you for a silly little fight?''  
  
Dick bites his cheek.   
  
''I... No. Except... maybe. ''  
  
''Seriously? After  _everything_  we've been through? Way to have faith in me, man!''

 

''I do have faith in you! I just... I don't...'' He doesn't want to complete the sentence. It just hurts too much. It all hurts too much. ''I'm... It was kind of a big fight.''   
  
He doesn't know how to express it, how to explain that he understands that it's difficult. That  _he's_  difficult. Dick doesn't know how to do something he doesn't want to. Because he needs Wally, wants him to stay but it's unfair.

  
''You are such an idiot'' Wally sighs. ''Dick, man, I've... I know things have been rough and I'm ... I was way out of line. It's just... You've never yelled at me like that before. I freaked out and I'm just... It's too much, sometimes.''  
  
Dick can't help but look away. Doesn't need to see the rejection as well as hear it.   
  
''But Dick, I didn't expect this to be easy. I know it's not going to be.''  
  
There are so many things he needs to say that just never get the chance to come out and Wally can't keep his mouth from moving. Things he has no idea how to word but they need to be spoken, somehow, some way, and right now it can be as indecipherable and disorganized as it wants because Wally just needs to  _tell_  him.  
  
''I know you, and I understand that you get tired and that you can't be all over the place all the time. I get that, man. I do. And I'm sorry if I've been pushing you too much but come on, it's me. It's... I don't really  _know_  how to be subtle or careful and I... ''  
  
Wally sighs and lets out a laugh that feels unpleasant to his throat.  
  
''I just... it's... It's all so messed up.''  
  
Dick's chest is tight and rough, the blood flowing slow like tar through his veins. Wally scratches his neck awkwardly with a tiny twist of the mouth.   
  
''It's... it's difficult.'' Dick tries to explain but it feels inadequate.  
  
''I know'' Wally says. ''But you're not really trying right now, are you?''  
  
Dick puts his face in his hands and lets out a breath that steals all agitation with it. As he slumps on the chair, Wally fights the urge to walk over to him. It's hard to keep such a lid on things; the two always had their own kind of secret language going on. A synchronization of thought and movement alike. They never really had to speak to understand, and Wally never worried about crossing lines because there weren't many that he wasn't allowed to cross.   
  
Things were different now, a bad different, and he hated that.  
  
''Dick, I know you like to think you're supposed to be invincible and want to go in a hundred percent and just be awesome, but I think you should just... try to maybe not demand too much all at once.''  
  
''That's very deep and all, Oprah.''  
  
Wally sighs, but the anger in his chest has greatly subsided.  
  
''I'm just saying... Maybe you tried too hard at first and that's why it didn't work out? Maybe we should just... stop obsessing about normalcy and just focus on getting somewhere that isn't backwards?''  
  
Dick scratches his nose and sighs.  
  
''I don't know, Wally.''  
  
Dick is glad for Wally. Glad because though he doesn't always understand, he always tries. And he tries so hard. Wally's got a big heart, too big sometimes, and Dick knows he hasn't done a lot to deserve it lately. Hesitantly he opens his mouth to apologize for what feels like the thousandth time in the past few months, but closes just as soon. There really is no use; words are empty sounds that hold no inherent meaning, in the end. No, Dick knows that he can apologize until his face falls off but it won't mean a thing until he actually proves it. It's his actions that need to speak for him now.  
  
''Have you thought about..?'' Wally's not sure how to really word it and his tongue twists itself over the words. ''You know... The T word?''  
  
His friend blinks in slight confusion, the only word that comes to mind is  _trapeze_  but that would be an unusually odd thing to mention at this time. Wally groans when he realizes he's just going to have to say it.  
  
''Therapy, birdbrain.''  
  
Blue eyes try harder than normal to avoid him. A shiver runs down Wally’s back and he's not sure if the temperature just dropped or if he's simply imagining it.  
  
''I'm so sick of this.''   
  
Wally's stomach churns.  
  
''This?''

 

''Everything'' Dick heaves a heavy, trembling sigh and shakes his head with the weariness of an old man. ''I'm just... I'm tired. I'm so freaking tired.''  
  
Wally's eyes are intense with worry. He bites his lip to keep the wave of emotions at bay, looks someplace else and hopes that by time the emotions will simply go away.   
  
Starve, somehow, in a far corner of his mind.   


Because Dick doesn't need it. Wally does, he needs and wants it so deeply, but knows his needs aren't as important right now. At this point he has to cling to their friendship with claws and teeth and endless amounts of resilience, so maybe he should try to salvage that relationship before even thinking about considering anything else.  
  
But the thought passes through his mind just the same.  
  
There is so much he wants to say. What or when and where and, most of all how, is a conundrum he can't quite get his mind around. Wally was always more of a person who acted out his emotions but even that is difficult now.  
  
''Dick, did something...''  
  
The silence is so vast it almost screams, loud in their ears it cuts through every bone in their bodies. Dick waits for the rest of the sentence like one waits for a fist to the throat. Wally looks at him simply. Raw and insecure and well meaning.   
  
''Did something happen? Over... there I mean... You know, when they took you, I...'' Wally bites his lip. Can't fight the feeling that he's doing something wrong.  
  
Dick's entire body language changes within a blink, and he is no longer listless or worn. There is only something automatic, mechanic, about his person as he speaks.  
  
''No.''  
  
Wally can only uphold eye contact for so long. Eventually, and with great shame, he turns his head away.  
  
''Okay.''  
  
''They...'' Dick falters for a moment, then pushes with a voice that sounds unnecessarily strong. ''They just... They had a healer.''  
  
''Yeah, I... I heard. A meta. Rose... something.''  
  
Dick nods stiffly.  
  
''They could... They...'' The words pull like razor wire through his throat. It shouldn't be this hard. ''Skinned.''  
  
Wally looks torn between confusion and aversion. Like he wants to push further, but at the same time wants to turn away. Dick feels cruel for even saying this to him.  
  
''They... uh. They skinned me.'' Dick looks at his hands. ''And... you know. It's...''  
  
''It's fine'' Wally's throat is strangling him. ''You don't have to tell me.''  
  
Dick shakes his head.  
  
''I just... I'm okay. Mostly. I haven't had an... episode in a while but it...'' He's not sure whether or not to carry on, he's not entirely convinced Wally won't get angry with Artemis for what she did. Dick doesn't really blame her, he knows she was probably acting on impulse, forgot herself in the emotions, but Wally is Wally - sweet, kind and protective Wally - and Dick isn't sure he can handle it. ''Thank you.''  
  
''I've always got your back, bro.''  
  
Dick pinches the bridge of his nose hard, the skin throbbing in pain but it helps to keep his emotions in check.   
  
''Thanks'' Wally says then.   
  
''For what?''  
  
He hesitates, a little.   
  
''For trusting me.''  
  
And Dick will never know how much he really means it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

''You see what's wrong, don't you?''  
  
Artemis watches the butler silently as he moves around the kitchen area. Smooth and almost fluid, the butler steers his person like the most tranquil stream of water. A little dusting here, a little polishing there; the place is spotless to the narrowest corner and she can't even begin to comprehend how it would be to clean it all by oneself, especially when being presumably a hundred years old. She figures the man has to have some sort of superpower behind it because any other explanation just doesn't make much sense.   
  
Artemis can't tell if he honestly thinks it looks that dirty or if he's simply looking for discreet ways to avoid her.  
  
''I'm afraid you will have to be more specific, miss Artemis'' Much like his movements his voice is dignified, slow but in a deliberate sort of way that makes him seem powerful, authorative but never threatening. ''However, I assume that you speak of master Dick?''  
  
Well, alright, maybe a little bit threatening.  
  
''Yeah.'' The blonde spins her glass absentmindedly between stiff hands. ''I think it's time we stop prancing around the issue here.''  
  
''I can't say I am terribly familiar with the colloquialisms of today, so you must forgive me if I don't  _catch your drift_ , as they say''  
  
Despite herself, she can't fully restrain her smile.  
  
''I think we need to call in the cavalry.''  
  
Alfred looks at her for a little moment, then gives a tiny nod.  
  
''I believe you are quite right, miss Artemis.''  
  
She would be lying if she said she wasn't terrified. Down to the smallest bone in her toes, the fear expands like a balloon with every breath she takes. She isn't sure what she’s supposed to say to him, if he even wants to talk to her. A near hour has passed but the sound of the slap, her hand against his cheek, still echoes loudly in her mind.  
  
''That is  _it_.''   
  
The sudden appearance of Wally's pointed voice is enough to startle them, and it's with a shared expression of surprise that they turn to him.  
  
''Master Wallace?'' Alfred inquires, brows raised.  
  
''I've had it. I don't know what's taking Batman so god damn long but it's got to stop.'' Then, with a sudden thought of something, he looks up as if epiphany struck him. ''I'm ending this. Right now.''  
  
''Where are you going?'' Artemis gets up from the chair as Wally disappears quickly out the door; it feels nothing short of a miracle that she even has time to catch up to him before he gets into his superspeed. ''Wally!''  
  
The redhead turns around quickly while green eyes flicker over to stare at her; at the walls and the ceiling and floor, at anything at all. The push of anger is too strong, the upset too warm, for him to really focus his agitation on anything particular.  
  
''Wally, slow down!''  
  
Wally breathes through his teeth. Blinks a few times to slow his mind down but his brain is humming.   
  
''Artemis, you either get away from me or you help me.''  
  
''What's going on? Did something happen?''  
  
He snorts.  
  
''Yeah. And we haven't done a single thing about it.''   
  
Wally saw the same images in his sleep, those first weeks. When Robin was gone he couldn't stop thinking, but tried his best to keep the worst case scenarios away. Tried to think good thoughts, happy thoughts, that eventually they would find him and bring him back home.   
  
When Dick returned he had seemed so normal. Wally found it harder to fight the images of anything that could have happened, but it had been easier back then because Dick seemed to act as if it wasn't too bad.

 

With time it only got worse, and his imagination got crueller. At first he was glad no one told him in detail what happened. Torture was a big word, and it could mean a lot of things, but at least its ambiguity left his mind very little to work with. Now, that very same ambiguity and nothingness of the word felt more like a curse, because it meant anything could have happened. In Wally's imagination that one possibility turned into a million.  
  
''You're not making any sense, Kid Mouth.''  
  
All the while Wally can't help but wonder how scared Dick was.   
Did he scream? Did he cry?  
  
''I'm going to the Watchtower.''  
  
Did he wonder why they weren't coming for him?  
  
''The Watchtower? What? Why?'' She frowns. '' _How_?''  
  
''Because he's not ... this....'' Wally can't even talk, he just wants to scream. Scream and break things but maybe not even then would it feel better. The guilt, the crushing inadequacy that had gnawed on him since the day this entire mess began, is so loud he has to strain to even hear Artemis' voice.  
  
He's sick of standing by. Sick and tired of watching things fall apart but never do anything. He’s left it to Batman for too long. Even if they weren't connected by blood, it was Bruce's responsibility and the man had seemed infallible. So capable of carrying the world, Wally hoped and dared to dream that Bruce would always know what to do. He  _had_  to know, because Wally sure didn't have the slightest idea. He was scared, but trusting Bruce had made it easier.  
  
Obviously that had been the wrong approach.  
  
''The League is on some secret mission, you know that. How were you even going to get inside?''  
  
Wally takes a deep breath and hopes that things will start to make sense.   
  
''RT said they're expected home the day after tomorrow, we can talk to them then.'' Artemis says and Wally gives her a strange look.  
  
''We?''  
  
She nods.  
  
''Yeah, Wally. We.''  
  
He doesn't say anything, because no words really cut it. Merely looks at her and hopes that every emotion, all the fear and regret and  _gratitude_ , can be conveyed through that one single action.   
  
Artemis gives him a tiny nudge and tries to look strong.  
  
''Families stick together. At least, that's what I like to believe.''  
  
''Yeah.'' Wally takes a deep breath and nods. ''I like to believe that, too.''  
  
''Just... calm down for now, okay? We'll talk to them when they come home. Maybe the others will want to join.''  
  
Wally draws a hand through his hair while the wave of emotions pulls back, leaving him drained.  
  
''Is he...'' Artemis looks away. ''How is he?''  
  
''A mess. But he wants to talk to you.''  
  
''He does?''  
  
''Yeah. He won't bite.''  
  
They stand in neutral silence for a moment before Wally finally says what's been on their minds all day. Artemis knew it was coming, but still wasn't very prepared for it.  
  
''So how did you..?''  
  
''It had been bothering me for a long while. All the signs were there, when I ran into him in school and... It all just kind of... clicked, eventually.''  
  
''Yeah'' Wally tries to smile. ''He's kind of a lousy identity keeper.''  
  
''How did you..?''  
  
''He told me.''  
  
''Oh.''

 

Wally nods. There's the slight feeling of privilege for being the first to be told, at the same time he feels kind of guilty. It's the kind of guilt that comes with getting a new car for your birthday while all your friends get nothing at all, but Wally fought hard for that trust. He knows he earned it, a long time ago. This time wasn't going to be any different.   
  
''Thanks. For... calling, I mean.''  
  
Wally was a lot of things, but a quitter wasn't one of them.  
  
''You were the only one I could think of.'' She sees the doubt on his face, poorly hidden but it's obvious that he tries. ''He seems more relaxed around you. Like he seeks you out.''  
  
''What?''  
  
''It just show in the way you interact. His body language, it's more... open around you. Well, it was, in the past. I don't know how it is now as I ... haven't seen him much but. I mean, with me, and in school he always keeps his distance. Even before he always seemed very reserved even if he didn't jump five feet as soon as you tried to come near him. It's just... I don't know.'' She shrugs. ''I panicked and you were the one that came to mind.''  
  
Artemis tilts her mouth a little.   
  
''It's kind of weird having a normal conversation with you.''  
  
''Don't get used to it'' Wally smirks meekly. ''Go. I'll wait.''  
  
She nods and turns to leave, but he stops her just as she's about to go.  
  
''And thanks.'' Wally says. ''For, you know. Discretion and all.''  
  
''Family, right?''  
  
Wally nods.  
  
''Right.''  


* * *

 

She stares at the side of his head for what must be five minutes before she thinks of anything resembling a decent sentence. Not that she has the time to mouth it, though, as Dick startles her with his own voice.  
  
''If you tell  _anyone_  --''  
  
Artemis rolls her eyes.  
  
''You'll what? Punch me in the knees?''  
  
It's hard to tell, nowadays, what people's real intentions are. Whether the jab they made was just meant as a joke or a scathing remark; if malice hides in that joking tone. Hard to know if there is a threat behind their movements, or if he's simply letting the paranoia get the better of him. Before this it was easy to tell, to read people like books; he had his training to thank for that and even if his distrust was a bit unnatural, it was to his advantage most of the time. Now it seemed only to cloud his mind, and Dick no longer knows how to read people. Everything sounds like an insult, a threat or just plain disappointment. Every kind word feels more like a lie, and trust doesn't look much like an option anymore.  
  
He wants to trust her. Wants to trust them all but it's just not that simple.   
  
''Relax'' She says and he figures the conflict must be evident on him. ''I won't. I haven't so far, right?''  
  
He looks at her for a little while longer before he turns away.  
  
''Batman is going to kill me.''  
  
''He won't have to know.''  
  
Dick's body shudders with a sort of sardonic, empty chuckle.  
  
''He has his ways to find out.''  


The door is closed, but she notices the distress it brings him, and decides to keep at the side of it; far away from the boy but not appearing as if she's trying to purposefully block it.  
  
''I'm... sorry I slapped you.''  
  
Dick tenses minimally. Tries to fight it, to look unbothered, but she sees it all the same.   
  
''Sorry I freaked out on you.''  
  
There have been so many terrible things about this experience, so many things that keep her up at night and makes her jumpy in the morning. Artemis doesn't like anything about this, or what it's doing to them all, but one thing she hates more than most is the way he's still fighting to appear unbothered. It's almost stupid that he thinks he has anyone left to fool. That he even  _needs_  to.   
  
''No, no, I came on too strong. I ... do that, sometimes.'' She squirms a little. ''Just... I'm at a bit of a loss here.''  
  
''Yeah'' Dick says. ''I know. Me too.''

''You know you can talk to me, right?''  
  
The words come with an obvious struggle through her throat, something Dick seems to notice by the way that he looks at her. It's uncomfortable to hear as well as speak, and he searches long and hard for the right response.  
  
''There's not really much to say.''  
  
''Look, I understand we haven't known each other very long and all but... I mean I don't really get what you're going through but I just... I don't know. I just want you to know, is all.''  
  
She wants him to know that he's got her there, even if he doesn't want her to. That he's got Roy, and Wally and Kaldur and the entire team. That no matter how hard or lonely it feels, he's never alone in this. Even if it all feels precarious, insane and upside down and inside out, even if there doesn't seem to be an end to the long, shaky road, there is one. There's got to be.   
  
Maybe not now, but they'll make one. By any means necessary.  
  
But she doesn't know how to say it; Artemis was never good with expressing emotions because she was raised to keep them locked up. Emotions were a weakness, and to that extent she can understand his undying resistance to let them pour through entirely. To keep appearing capable and strong and bold, and she also understands that it wears a person down. Eats at you until there's not much left but scraps. She wants him to know that she knows at least that much and that it's okay, sometimes. Because no one can keep that charade up forever. But she doesn't say anything. She's not sure it would help, anyway.  
  
Instead she says the only thing she can. It's a small thing, a childish thing, but it's what she needs to believe.  
  
''It's going to be okay, Dick.''  
  
There is that chuckle again.  
  
''No, it's not.''  
  
''You're just going to give up?''  
  
He gives her a sideway glance, hesitant and slow, opens his mouth but closes it before the words can come through. It doesn't feel right to tell the truth, the one starved little truth he has in all the confusion and uncertainty.   
  
''Does it matter?''  
  
''You're damn right it matters.''  
  
The threatening tone of her voice is only amplified by its low volume. Harsher, almost, and though he can't quite put his finger on it, there's something in it that unsettles him. Something about the way she looks at him with quiet, dormant anger, waiting for just the right opportunity to rise. It would be easier if she had been yelling, screaming out her disappointment and anger and everything he doesn't even know. At least then he'd know what to expect.

 ''I'm sorry'' she says.   
  
It only succeeds in confusing him further.  
  
''For what?''  
  
She simply looks at him from the corner of her eye with that dormant thing behind her iris that he doesn't trust.  
  
''I hope you'll feel better soon, circus boy. I truly do.''  


''Yeah'' Dick says. ''I hope so too''


	11. Eleven

He hates the silence. Really, really hates it. **  
  
** The small shower slippers he can handle, it’s not like some silly yeast infection is the worst of his problems. And honestly, truly, really, seriously, for realsies, he doesn't even mind that the pudding only served on  _special_  Fridays tastes worse than any nightmarish concoction Harley’s made for him in the past. (Sweet girl, a little melodramatic but can ya do.)  
  
Ivy’s complained loud and long about the lack of plant life, of heart and soul and ''fresh air'' (but who needs it?) and that it’s just so lifeless, so cold and heartless to have nothing but white walls to surround them. He’s gotta agree with that, a bit; the place needs more color. (Dapples of red and splashes of brown and grey and whatever else pours out of a man with a knife in his belly. Had he been a poet he'd write epics about it, but he’s not, so he doesn't. But how much fun do poets have, anyway?)   
  
No. No, he doesn't mind any of that, at all. The bed’s too short so his legs stick out like flimsy whimsy marionette legs. It was hard, too, but it’s a hard life so maybe that’s kind of funny, in a way. He’s not really sure but he laughs anyway. 

And lord, sweet infant Jesus, the  _smell_. The whole place is a farce but he doesn't really  _care_. There is a joke in everything, even horrible tragedies, and that’s fine too because it brings a smile to his lips (heh).   
  
But this is a silent film.   


Except, silent films have piano music and silly hats. They didn't have the courtesy to bring him that, no. (He lost his hat privileges about the time he lost his bathroom privileges, the spoil sports, they never laugh at anything)  
  
He tries to make noises and sounds and festivities but they only up his dosages.  
  
(Blue and red and yellow pills and injections as if sunshine and rainbows ever made anything better)  
  
It's hard to tell where one thing starts and another ends. Like a merry go round and round and round. The madness never ever really ends and that's fortunate, too, because then what would he do? Crochet?  
He tries to tell jokes but his neighboring loonies don't appreciate it. (Where's the punchline? they say because they're idiots and he'd rip a laugh out of their mushy little throats if only the glass wasn't so thick)  
  
He makes a funny face at Killer Croc but the freak doesn't as much as give a courtesy smile. (Or maybe he does, it's just so hard to tell with the scales) It's kind of sad because it's almost to a point where he wants Harley to be there because she always finds the fun side of  _everything,_  even when she’s too dumb to get the joke.  
  
(To get to the other side!)  
  
Mm, but it's different, today. If he hadn't lost track of time about three or four lifetimes ago he'd say it'd been very long since someone did anything besides complain in this sadhouse. With all the sighs and moans and oohs and ahs it feels like he's in a very terrible porn movie.   
  
''Someone's late for the party!''  
  
The fellow, he's new. At least, he must be, because he can't say he's seen the man before. (Or is he a simple hallucination?)  
Ah. Like he cares. As long as it's not a party pooper, he'll gladly talk to it. Who knows? Everyone warned him not to talk to strangers when he was little but they didn't know what riots strangers can be.   
  
The man looks at him and that's when he knows the man is real, because at least his hallucinations have the decency to pretend he's not crazy. That judging eye people always have, like they caught him with his hand in the cake before the birthday boy arrived. The kind of people who died tragically in mysterious house fires and boating accidents.

  
The man looks away, ignores him, what nerve. What awful, awful manners. Heh.  
  
''What's funny?''  
  
He must be laughing, or the new guy wouldn't look like that. Disturbed and maybe a little bit annoyed. Not scared, though. How strange. They're  _always_  scared.   
  
''Nothing. That's the good part!''  
  
''I see.''  
  
''You're new here, aren't ya? Or should I add another symptom to my list?''

The man glares, not a twitch of the lip, not a smile. Not the tiniest twinkle in his eye.   
  
''Oh, god. You're that jester, aren't you?'' It's just so incredibly hilarious. ''I've heard of you.''   
  
''Oh, only bad things, I hope!'' The man keeps looking so unimpressed, like he doesn't know who he's even  _dealing_  with and where do they  _find_  these people? ''Tough crowd, I see. Don't worry, by the end of the night, I'm sure I'll have you in  _stitches_!''  
  
The new guy rolls his eyes and turns his back to him, flipping through a tiny little book (a smart person book, is what it looks like).  
  
''Come on, newbie. Don't be like that!'' he taps the glass between them. ''Let's talk! We can gossip about boys and braid our hair through the air holes! It'll be fun!''  
  
''Would you be  _quiet_? I'm reading.''  
  
''You're an out of towner, huh?''  
  
Finally the man turns to glance at him (unamused) over his shoulder. Then, displeased by the sight, he turns away again.  
  
''Come on, newbie! It's just a friendly conversation!''  
  
''If I humor you for five minutes, will you leave me alone then?''  
  
'' _Hah_! Humor! That's a good one.'' He bites his lip to keep back the giggle but it’s pointless as always. ''I like you.''  
  
''Lucky me.''  
  
''I think I'll kill you last.''  
  
The man chuckles then, softly, warmly. Like a father would chuckle. Or, a father on TV, anyway.  
  
''Alright, clown''   
  
He stands up and turns the chair, then sits down with his hands clasped and smiles. It's such a beautiful smile. Full of festering evil and pain and  _cruelty_.   
  
''So'' he smiles so wide it hurts the corners of his mouth. But that's joy for you, always gotta be filtered through the pain. ''What naughty thing did you do to get thrown into the loony bin? Kidnap a high school bus full of kids? Set fire to the mayor's office? Punch Batman in the face with an umbrella?'' He narrows his eyes while his voice lowers into a threat. ''You didn't steal  _my_  act, did ya?''  
  
''Oh, no, no.'' he chuckles and shakes his head. ''No, I'm not crazy.''  
  
Cue honest, pure surprise.  
  
''Oh? Really? Then what are you?''  
  
The man makes a modest gesture with his hand and shrugs. It's funny because he's so soft, he looks so incredibly soft like a little fluffy lamb before the shotgun to its face or a hideous sweater at Christmas, before the eggnog makes mommy cry. And oh, the delightful mix of pain and softness, it reminds him of crushed squirrel skulls under his feet on warm summer days as a boy.  
  
''Well, I'm an artist.''  
  
''Misunderstood genius. I like that. Very rare around here.'' He nods seriously, vigorously, his lips pursed and eyes big. ''Crocky over there is here because he ate a lot of people. And miss Green Fingers down the hall, well, I think she tried to poison some politician again.'' He shakes his head and sighs. ''People. No sense for theatrics, I say.''  
  
''And why are you here?''  
  
''Me? I'm a misunderstood artist, as well!''  
  
The new guy (the  _Artist_ ) looks honestly interested. Or, well, like he would know what honesty looks like. But that facial expression is boring and plain and that's pretty much what the opposite of lying sounds like.  
  
''See, all I did was try to make people smile. I'm a humorous man in an asymmetrical world. People just don't get the joke, you see. That's the problem. That's  _always_  the problem.''  
  
''Sounds frustrating.''  
  
''Oh, I'll be out before next Tuesday, I bet! No harm done. Yet.''  
  
The Artist smiles again. Soft and warm and fuzzy wuzzy cold, blood-curdling and awful just  _awful_  this man must be a monster. In his eyes, something lurking, prowling, watching. As if any second now he'll unhinge his jaws and swallow the sun. Delightful.  
  
''What kind of art do you do, newbie?''  
  
''Oh, this and that. I'd say it's performance art, mostly.''  
  
''Performance, eh?''  
  
''Well, others call it torture and crimes against humanity and basic civil rights but...'' he shrugs. ''Everyone's a critic.''

The sheer force and power of his laugh is enough to throw his head back; it rips through his body like a pack of wolves and his fingers tremble with glee. When he manages to quiet it down to a mere snicker snort a tear crawls into the corner of his eye.  
  
''They are, Picasso. They are!''   
  
''Careful or your sides may split.''  
  
''Now  _that_  would be a party!''  
  
The Artist shakes his head slightly, and it's just all so wonderful and curious.  
  
''Say, you must have really ticked the capes off for them to throw you in here. Tell me, did you tango with the Bat?''  
  
The Artist's facial expression changes in a most peculiar way. A fog rolls over his eyes when he turns them away. Suddenly he looks so serious. Tsk.   
  
''Actually, I got a good beating from most of the League. It's strange, really''  
  
''Strange? I like strange.''  
  
''Yes, but... A bad strange. Something is wrong. Missing.''  
  
''Your sanity?''  
  
''No. Like I lost something.'' The Artist sees him open his mouth for an interjection, and cruelly nips it in the bud. ''No,  _not_  my mind. But time, maybe.''  
  
''Oh, pff!'' he waves his hand a little. ''That happens to all of us! The best! No need to feel embarrassed about it.'' Then he lowers his voice to a secretive whisper, shielding one side of his mouth with his hand. ''Tell you the truth, I'm not even sure what year this is.''  
  
The little smile is back on the Artist's face. And that's good, because it takes a real man to smile through the ugliness in such a topsy turvy world. 

  
Through the years they've always said he's mad, that his actions and thoughts are all bonkers. What they would know if they only opened their eyes is that it's not like that at all. Oh, the things they'd see.  _They're_  the ones who are out of sorts and should receive proper medication. They'd know this, if only they would listen. (But that's crazy talk. No one ever listens to him.)  
  
''So what did you do? It takes something spectacular to gather all that attention, I should know.''  
  
There is that special, delicious light in the Artist's eyes. The kind of delicious that only comes with nasty nasty awful things which make his skin crawl and shudder in delight.  
  
''I just... carved the wrong bird.''  
  
And that's it.  
That's the punchline. The funniest, strangest, most precious little moment he's had all day. It's awful.   
And he knows, that very moment, he just knows, that the two of them will have  _so_  much  _fun_  together.  
  
''Hey, Picasso''  
  
''Yes?''  
  
''Knock knock.''   
  
''Who's there?''  
  
He can feel the tar, the black, soul devouring evil crawl up his throat, before disappearing into a snicker.   
  
''No one.''  
  
(Ha.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

''Now, this might sound crazy''   
  
''Darling, I expected crazy the moment I saw you. What I wasn't expecting was... well, this.'' She motions at him, diamond rings and white gold glistening on her slender fingers.   
  
She takes a sip of tea and watches the swarming life of the other café guests. Youthful dreamers writing terrible novels on their expensive computers, high school girls laughing and chattering and an old couple holding hands across the table. It's a beautiful day; warm but not unbearably so, just the right weather for her new jacket to be worn. 

It had seemed the perfect day for a cup of tea and a nice cinnamon cookie that could only ever be bought at this special place. It’s her favorite, one she often visits now when she has little else to do. It’s open twenty-four hours, something which is good when her fingers tremble to pick a lock and her limbs ache in the need to climb a building. Freedom is what she tries to gain with her new life but it seems that it’s freedom she has also lost.  
  
''I know you're straight now'' he speaks with a certain gentleman's air, smooth and precise, as he looks at her. ''But we're going to need your help with this.''  
  
She always liked that about him; he doesn't fear her because of her skills, or obey her because of her looks. With Edward Nygma it’s always civilized and, though his ego often gets on her nerves, he is still a man in a city where so many become monsters.

  
''And you assume I'll help you? Just like that?''  
  
''Well'' he swallows. Habitually lets his eyes wander to the ceiling to count and organize the cracks by size. ''I know it's a lot to ask. Still, you know as well as I do that I can't just up and stroll into Belle Rêve for a casual visit. Harvey certainly can't, with that mug.''  
  
''You just can't take that boy anywhere.''  
  
He gives a dull smile.   
  
''The same goes for Arkham but... We have other plans for that hellhouse.''  
  
Selina thinks his words over, turns them inside her head and considers every possibility. Every angle and probability, the things that can go wrong, but something else weighs on her decision.  
  
''You know, I don't see  _him_  very often anymore.''  
  
''Some would say that's a good thing''  
  
Her laugh comes out close to a chortle.  
  
''I guess that's what you get for being such a nuisance to him.'' Her lips purse in unhidden curiosity. ''Have you seen him?''  
  
Edward shakes his head.  
  
''No, but he put Ivy in Arkham just last week. I also heard he ruffled a few feathers of Cobblepot's. Seems he inquired a bit too much about the boy.''  
  
Her eyes darken, heavy for a moment with emotions he does not have the time to decipher. When she smiles it's a soft gesture, but an angry one as well. Edward squirms in his chair and diverts his attention to his own tea, unable to fully meet her gaze.  
  
''Do you know what happened?''  
  
''Some of it, yes.''  
  
''And?''  
  
Nygma shrugs. The more the mystery unravels, the more uncertain he feels about it. It's so close now, so close to baring itself to him; the truth, the answer to the riddle, and it fills his body with the best kind of high. A rushing wave of pleasure, satisfaction and pain.  
  
''And this is a certain type of cruelty. Harvey's mad because they stomped into our territory, and so am I, of course. Gotham is barely big enough for all of us. It's...''  
  
''It's..?''  
  
He chuckles.  
  
''It's silly.''  
  
''I like silly'' The purr to her voice beckons his words to surface, and Edward feels dizzy.  
  
''It's just so crude. Not only do I hate it when some cocky out of towner thinks he can make it big, thinks he can put up some competition...'' He snorts. ''And as much as I can’t resist a good mystery...'' 

''Yes..?''  
  
He closes his eyes briefly and sighs.  
  
''We all do our fair share of terrible things, but I like to think of myself as a man with  _standards_. If Killer Croc eats an entire orphanage or the Joker makes a coat out of baby seals, I'm not surprised. But this? I don't know, Selina.''   
  
''What worries me the most about this is the silence.'' She turns the cup in her hands. ''No one says a lot about it. There are rumors, as always but there is nothing  _substantial_.'' Then she meets his eyes and holds his gaze in an unwavering grip, prodding and clawing and questioning in a way that scares him. ''I know enough to tell when a silence is just a silence and when it's only there because the truth is too bad. Whatever happened, I want to know and I want someone to be held responsible.''  
  
He looks at her in contemplation before he nods.  
  
''As do I.''  
  
''Then don't worry'' she leans over to pat his knee and it sends a spark through his body. ''If you need my help, I'll assist you. Free of charge.''  
  
He swallows down the dust in his throat when she winks and tries to give a confident smile.  
  
''Splendid.''  


  
  


* * *

 

 

  
Picasso is so gentle, all the time. He's nice to everyone, a real momma's dream and still, despite all that, nobody likes him. (Except for Joker but no one likes him either)  
He's so polite and gracious, well-mannered, his voice never rises to a yell and his movements are thought out and deliberate. Every day with him feels like a party, a fancy dinner banquet that he forgot to wear his shoes to.  
  
''Why did the little bird cross the road?''  
  
He limps a little, but never complains. All the others stay well away from him, which is good because then he can keep the Artist all to himself. (His very own special little play date.)   
It's a shame they don't let him out of his cell for lunch, something about sharp utensils and how he can't be trusted, so whenever lunch comes they shoot it through a little hatch in the glass. But it's okay, because Picasso isn't allowed to eat with other people either. No one on that wing is, which is sadly unfortunate because Killer Croc has just the worst table manners. (Not Picasso, though, no, that man is  _classy_ )  
  
He's never been around too many classy people before that he didn't end up killing. Heh.   
  
''I don't know, Joker. You tell me.''  
  
It's funny, it's all so incredibly funny but for no real reason. His gut is swarming with little tiny bugs, hundreds and thousands of black beetle like creatures of hatred and pure, blind fury. The bugs nibble and crawl around his body, into his fingers and they itch, they itch and buzz for blood. (Shank him through the air holes, do it, do it, stab him when he least expects it. Rip his eyes out in his sleep and feed them to him. Put a smile on that beautiful, hideous face.)  
  
And it brings a special kind of smile to his lips, a darkness to his eyes and they are black when he sees his own reflection. Picasso gives him wonderful looks sometimes, so maybe he knows, maybe not, but that's the fun part of it all.  
  
(Every good joke is executed when you least expect it.)  
  
''Because the bus was late!''  
  
The Artist has enough kindness in him to smile, just the tiniest little smile because he  _appreciates_  a good comedian when he meets one. His fondness of the man is only rivaled by his world-wrecking hate. Like any good, stable relationship. It's sad that such a wonderful thing must die, eventually.

Days pass, though he can't be too sure, but they must pass because one of the guards changed his hair since last time (or did he?). More and more they talk, he and his new pal. Picasso is tight lipped but never really  _boring_  and he wonders what fantastically awful things hide inside his brain. He's a good man because he always lets Joker have his pickles. (What kind of man doesn't like pickles?) He tells him jokes and the good man laughs, or snickers, humors him and it's so nice to have the silence finally end.  
  
Croc watches them from the other side with a long, wet tongue running across his awful lips and there's a hunger in his eyes no human can ever muster. He watches Picasso day and night and that's how Joker knows this man is made of good material. (Croc is not a picky eater but when he gets that  _look_  in his eyes, well, something is right.) In some parts of the world, Picasso says, they believe that when you eat a man you gain his strength. His powers and knowledge. Joker forgets to ask every time why Croc's only eating ugly people. (He must, mustn't he? Heh.)  
  
''I see you'' Croc drawls but it sounds like a growl, the slow, warm rumbling hiss of his namesake as it prowls through the swamp.  
  
Picasso only scoffs at him but refuses to tear his ugly, yellow little eyes from the book. It's anatomy, looks like anatomy, lots and lots of naked people. Skinned and ripped down to flesh and muscle and bone. Good stories, he bets. Lots of pretty pictures.  
  
''I smell it on you.'' And he licks licks lickity licks those horrible lips. ''Smells like blood 'n' pain.''  
  
''There's no music here'' Picasso looks around him, disappointed and bored. ''Do you think they'd let me have a recorder of some sort, in here?''  
  
Then Croc laughs. Deep and low like the clucking cluck of stinking waves against a rotting boat. Now, of all times, he laughs. That wasn't even  _funny_.  
And Joker feels the bugs in his stomach stir, rustle and fight to get outside. Get out and eat and devour everything, everyone, the world or him, it might not really matter. As long as they get to feed and destroy and it stinks, within somewhere deep, deep down where all the parts are broken. (But all the best toys are)  
  
''Oh, go chase your tail, you big lizard!'' he pouts, and the Artist snorts.  
  
Croc smirks, which is wrong. This is all wrong.  
  
''What's funny?'' he says. Croc shakes his large head. ''I'll rip that smirk off your ugly face if you don't!''  
  
The big freak of a man grins, wide and toothy and sharp like hundreds of pearly white razors, rocks in the ocean as you're pushed off a cliff.  
  
''Nuthin', I s'pose''   
  
But he grins all the same.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Batman knows something is wrong the moment he steps through the portal. There's a tension in the air and he's not the only one to notice it. Martian Manhunter makes the tiniest of twitches, another sign that convinces Batman of his own suspicion. When they enter the Watchtower it all looks normal, sounds quiet and undisturbed. There is no immediate or obvious sign of a break in but then again, with the good ones there never are. And you have to be extremely good to break into the Watchtower.  
  
''Stand on guard'' he says in an almost-whisper. The others only cast a brief glance at him before they tense into position.  
  
It's quiet, unnaturally so, but before Batman has time to set any sort of plan into motion, Martian Manhunter has already entered the bridge.  
  
''J'onn!'' Wonder Woman hisses. ''What are you  _doing_?''  
  
''Hello, M'gann'' The Martian says calmly.  
  
They are quick to follow and as they line up beside him, confusion and quite a bit of surprise strike them as they see their guests. Miss Martian waves slightly to her uncle, smiling as if it was just a harmless visit at the office.  
  
''Hi, uncle!''  
  
''What are you doing here?'' Batman growls with a voice that tells of great punishment to come but no one as much as twitches.   
  
''Never mind that'' The Flash looks accusingly at the teenagers. '' _How_ did you..?''  
  
''I let them in.''  
  
''Cap?!''  
  
Despite that the nervous fear makes his entire body want to disassemble, Captain Marvel remains still in his position. Around him the protégés, even Red Arrow, have gathered like little angry bees.

  
The rest of the League exchange dubious looks, unsure of their next move. Eventually their eyes seek out Batman for some kind of guidance but he's not paying them any attention, too busy shifting his glare between Captain Marvel and Kaldur'ahm.  
  
''Talk.''  
  
''I apologize for this rude greeting'' Kaldur begins, and it's clear that he chooses his words carefully. ''But we need to discuss --''  
  
''We need to talk about Rob'' Wally interrupts.  
  
''Has something happened to Robin?'' Hal Jordan looks at them in equal parts worry and confusion. ''Is he alright?''  
  
''Nothing has happened'' Kaldur raises his hands. ''But he is far from alright.''  
  
Since the words only confuse the Green Lantern further, he gives Batman a suspicious, accusatory stare.  
  
''Look, let's just get to the  _point_ '' Roy snaps. ''He needs help, and he needs it now. Serious, professional help.''  
  
''I thought I made it clear that it's  _none_  of your business''   
  
Batman slowly growls but their sudden immunity to his wrath is unyielding. 

''The hell it isn't!'' Wally is near shouting, but no one has any thought to hold him back. The time for gentle tactics has since long passed, and even M'gann chooses not to mitigate any of the anger she can feel growing and curling around her, oozing from her teammates like pus from a wound.   
  
''Robin is our teammate too'' she says, gentle but firm. ''And we're concerned about him.''  
  
''He's our friend, our teammate and that  _makes_  it our business, whether you like it or not.''  
  
Batman suppresses a tired, irritated sigh. The journey has been long and, though they came home earlier than expected, the jetlag alone has him in the worst of moods for talking to Wally West. He needs to go home, go through the files of information he gathered, make up a plan and approach the next phase of the mission. Not be verbally ambushed by stubborn teenagers who don't have enough respect for his orders.  
  
''Yes, but he's  _my_  protégé. We're done here, Kid Flash. Go home.''  
  
''You know we wouldn't be here unless we thought it was necessary. And guess what?'' Roy glares. ''It's fucking necessary.''  
  
''Roy!'' Green Arrow looks horrified, eyes darting between Roy and Batman at near inhuman speeds. He doesn't even dare look at Dinah. ''That's enough! This is our base and you're trespassing. Leave before Batman tears you a new one and we can discuss this quietly at home''  
  
''I'm through discussing because it leads nowhere with you! He's a mess and we've wasted too much time arguing!''  
  
''It's true'' M'gann says quietly. ''The few encounters we've had, I can tell that... His mind, it's all coming apart.''  
  
J'onn sighs.  
  
''This is what I was afraid of'' He turns to Batman, eyes deep and grave. ''I told you this would happen. The wall has crumbled.''  
  
''What, you  _knew_?!'' Wally's voice rises to a yell within seconds. ''You  _knew_  it was going to get this bad and you didn't -- I can't believe you!''  
  
''Like it wasn't obvious from the start?'' Roy spits. ''He was  _tortured_  for two weeks. Of course he was going to need therapy! I'm sad to say I'm not surprised to see it go this far before the matter was even taken up.''  
  
With the last part directed at Batman, Roy refuses to let his eyes off him. The older hero seems to flinch, barely, minimally, but it's there. Roy sees it, anyway, and he can't deny that if feels good.  
  
''It's a family matter'' Batman's voice is as monotone and hard as previously, his posture unchanged. As if he can change their minds through pure stubborness alone. ''You have no idea what you're talking about, so don't  _lecture_  me about my own partner.''   
  
Superman sees it, the tiny little twitch in Batman's jaw, which is all he really needs.  
  
''Maybe that's the problem.'' Clark says. ''Maybe it... clouds your judgment.''  
  
''It's easy to talk like you know what to do when you're outside of it. Right now I trust my judgment to be better than that of a team who barely knows him.''  
  
''Know him?!'' Artemis looks about ready to kill something. ''Who the hell do you think has been there? Hell, I don't know him half as well as Wally does but even I have seen him more than you have!''  
  
''I think we all just need to calm down'' Barry tries but the shouting is unstoppable.

So many people are yelling so many words, they eventually blend into one throbbing giant of noise where it is impossible to tell its origin. Insults are thrown and received, accusations and threats and the only thing constant in the rising screaming is the fear of what's to come.

Wonder Woman allows it to proceed for another few minutes before she decides it needs to be stopped.  
  
'' _Enough_!'' Her voice silences them quickly and effectively. They all look at her in varying degrees of intimidation. ''You are all acting like children!''  
  
''We are --'' she only has to look at Superboy once to silence him.   
  
''They're right, Batman. I know you mean well and you think you're doing the right thing but, let's be honest. This is not a good approach.''  
  
''Children, I understand your concern'' Aquaman says with a soothing hand on Diana's shoulder. ''But this is highly inappropriate and disrespectful.''  
  
''With all due respect, my king'' Kaldur says. ''But I fear that this is the only approach that we have left at our disposal.''  
  
''He  _needs_  help!'' Artemis snarls. ''And it's your inability to see it that is going to kill him!''  
  
Bruce clenches his fists as they tremble in fury, in frustration and exhaustion. A hundred nameless emotions he's not supposed to feel but that seem uneager to die.   
  
''I _know_ that''

By god, he _knows_. He knows Dick, he’s been there through every dark day, every misfortune, he _knows_ what happens when you force him to open up before he’s ready.  
  
''So let him talk to me'' Black Canary tries to keep her voice mellow, but it's obvious she's just about to scream again. ''Or J'onn or Midnight. You have an army of allies with you in this. The sooner you see that, the sooner you accept that you can't be infallible every damn time, the better for Robin.''  
  
''Dinah's right.'' Clark says carefully. ''You  _know_  she is.''  
  
''He won't listen''   
  
''He'll listen to us.'' Conner says. ''And if he doesn't, maybe he will, eventually.''  
  
''He's stubborn, but we can't just... We can't just let this go on.'' Superman agrees and shifts his eyes to Batman.

   
This isn't what he had in mind the day he first took on the cowl nor was it what he had intended now; Bruce knows he has to regain control of this before everything reaches the event horizon. It's just complicated, in a way he's so unused to. Any wrong move and he could lose everything that matters -  _again_  - but making no move at all could prove to have the same conclusion.  
  
''It has gone too far already'' Kaldur speaks up and it sounds eerily close to a warning. Perhaps even a threat. ''Do not allow it to pass any further, Batman.''  
  
Barry looks at his teammate in a sort of apologetic agreement.   
  
''At least give it a try''  
  
''Yeah'' Green Arrow grimaces. ''It can't hurt the kid any worse.''  
  
They all share a dubious look but cling to hope. After everything, it's all they have.   
  
''I hope you’re right''  
  
The accusation in Batman's voice has Green Arrow shrink a little, crawl into himself as his throat tightens and his mouth dries; he shares a look with the others, and they all have the same facial expression. Guilt for impassivity, guilt for aggression, for not knowing where the line blurs and whether or not to step over it.

There's a shame to it, a shame so strong it sends tremors through their beings; they are supposed to be symbols of hope and a better tomorrow, supposed to be the ones to speak when all the world is silent, the ones to see when everyone else is blind. Instead they have cowered in fear, fled, closed their eyes and left the weight of a life on the shoulders of one man. It is a heavy crime, but even those require a time of absolution.

''It's your kid and I'm not mentor of the year, I know that. But... They're right. Damn it, you know they are.  _I_  didn't want to admit that it could be this bad, but Bats, we can't...  _You_  can't afford to have that doubt. At least... not anymore.''  
  
''It is the right thing to do.'' J'onn assures, though the same uncertainty lingers in his voice. ''At least one session. We can start with that and see where it leads us.''  
  
Batman sends them all a hard stare that burns through metal and bone, clenches and releases his fists over and over underneath the cape because they don't know. It's easy to point fingers and say what's the best decision, it's so easy when it's not  _your_  child. He's not good with tragedy or personal trauma, his entire life is a testament to that, and they can say it's the right thing and still get to go home by the end of the day. It's  _him_  they will be leaving with the consequences. They don't have to carry the weight, watch attempts that fail and the damage it causes.   
  
He let  _his_  partner down,  _he_  failed Robin, no one else did. This entire fiasco is on his conscience, it's his mistake and it shouldn't be. It's his failure as a child repeated all over again, a failure that has his own family suffer and he loathes it, because it shouldn't have to be this bad. Maybe if he'd been on time, been enough, it wouldn't be.  
  
But it is.  
  
''Noon. Tomorrow. Civilian clothing.''  
  
And maybe it's time to stop hiding in the shadows.

   
''We're done here.''  
  
Just like that, he turns around and walks away. Left behind is a silence of immeasurable tension and for the next few minutes no one stands comfortably.   
  
''Is he going to be..?''  
  
Captain Marvel looks guilty of a crime, saddened and burdened by matters way out of his familiarity.  
  
''It will be fine, Captain. I believe Batman requires some time alone, for the time being.'' Kaldur tries to look convincing. ''We were greatly helped by your assistance and for that I thank you.''  
  
''I don't feel good about going behind his back'' M'gann interjects nervously. ''Maybe Robin should have been here...''  
  
''Yeah, no. He'd have put up more of a fight than Batman.'' Wally rolls his eyes. ''Don't worry about it, sugarbeans.''  
  
It's with little effort, but his words are enough to make her smile. M'gann gently squeezes his hand.  
  
''Just... tell me we're doing the right thing. We are, right?''  
  
''We are'' Conner says and he sounds like he believes it. ''He'll understand, M'gann. Eventually.''  
  
''Eventually'' she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. ''I hope that eventually is soon.''  
  
Kaldur rubs at his left temple to ease the strain and tension away, though it seems only to grow with the dread.  
  
''I know Robin has difficulties with trust that were prominent before the abduction. I truly hope this will not cause further damage.''  
  
''It's for a friend'' Dinah says. ''If it makes them hate you, that's fine. Better that they hate you in life than love you in death, I always find.''  
  
There is a sickening morbidity that strikes him with her statement but he swallows down the doubt and tries to gather strength, for they will all surely need it in the months to come. Perhaps, if unfortunate, also years. It will be a trying time, but one that Kaldur knows is necessary.  
  
''I agree with you guys'' Hal says and they all look at him as if they forgot the rest of the adults were there. ''And for what it's worth, I think you did the right thing.''  
  
''It will be fine'' Diana tries to soothe them, her voice drained but softened now. ''Robin is lucky to have you.''

''Great'' Roy says with an irritated huff. ''You can all hug it out. I've done what I came to do.''  
  
Red Arrow gives his former mentor a slight nod before he leaves. Oliver looks after him for a little while longer after he's disappeared from sight, biting his cheek to keep stupid words from breaking out. Even if he's now more of a former mentor, he can't shake the by now deeply seated urge to support him. Whenever or wherever. Even if the boy tries to look brave enough to carry a universe of troubles in his hands, Oliver has known him long enough to see the signs of anger and desperation. He glances at Artemis, some of the same signs and emotions fighting back against her outer calm. She meets his eyes only momentarily before it weakens her defenses. That, she decides, is her cue to go.  
  
''At least we set the ball running'' She says and gestures at her team. ''Come on, we've trespassed enough.''  
  
Conner doesn't even bother to glance at Superman, just swallows the hurt, shoves it aside as he grabs M'ganns hand and walks away.   
  
''Bye, uncle J'onn!'' she waves toward the older Martian. ''Will I still see you Sunday?''  
  
''I will arrive at eight, if that is alright?''  
  
''Looking forward to it! I'll make dinner!''  
  
''Yes.'' he nods. ''Dinner will be good.''  
  
One by one they disappear through the doorway. It takes many long minutes after their departure before the League members, paralyzed in their positions, make even the slightest sound.  
  
''Well, that was intense'' Barry says with a voice that tries to sound humorous, but the strain is too obvious for it to fully carry over.   
  
''Yeah'' Green Arrow sighs.  
  
''I only hope we did not cause any... damage.'' Arthur frowns. ''Although from what I have gathered, this was all long overdue.''  
  
''I'm just glad Guy wasn't here, he'd have ripped Bats a new one.''  
  
''How do you think he'll take it?''  
  
''Does it even matter, at this point?'' Dinah shakes her head. ''When I talked to the kids after the... simulation fiasco he was surprisingly talkative. But that trauma was different. It's obvious he carries a lot on his shoulders.''  
  
''Hopefully now he won't have to''  
  
Diana sees the exhaustion on her teammates' faces, feels it herself as it creaks and crackles through her bones. The mission was strenuous and long, adding to such a confrontation and the emotions it brought with it was more than enough. The time for rest had arrived; there would be plenty of time in the morning to feel guilty.   
As if reading her mind, Hal rubs at his neck to get at a particularly nasty knot in the muscle as he speaks.  
  
''Listen, it's been fun and all but I need to go home and crash. I think we  _all_  do. Especially you, J'onn. You have a big day tomorrow.''  
  
J'onn nods with the tiniest of sighs.   
  
''Yes, tomorrow will carry many challenges''  
  
Hal pats him reassuringly on the back.   
  
''Now, don't you worry too much, big guy. Things will work out, you hear?''  
  
''I hope you are right.''  
  
''I always am. Goodnight, guys!''  
  
Diana offers him a tired wave.  
  
''Goodnight, Hal.''


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for self induced vomiting and self harm (not cutting)

Damn it, damn it damn it damn it  _damn it_  --   
  
He needs to be quick about it, silent. Needs to utilize all of his stealth training and experience as to not make a single sound. It's kind of absurd, really, and had it been another time and another life, maybe he would have laughed at it. That his training would come in more use now than it had in months, it was  _kind_  of hysterical. But he doesn't laugh. Instead Dick trusts in his impulses, his reflexes, to guide him.  
  
The laundry room is far away from the living quarters because of the noise. Dick can't think of whose idea that was but to that person he is forever grateful. His hands tremble and twitch too much for him to easily pour the detergent -- how much is even necessary? Alfred told him on several occasions to prepare him for when he moved out but Dick just never remembered -- and the fabric softener, lots and lots of corkfuls of fabric softener. It smells like lilacs. Maybe if all goes well, the smell will be enough to cover it.  
  
Dick doesn't know if he should have presoaked the sheets or his pajama bottoms. Doesn't know anything about laundry or stains because Alfred always takes care of everything. Like a rock, solid ground when everything is crazy.

Only this time Dick doesn't dare to bother him. It's three a.m and he doesn't want to wake him for  _this_. Or, that's not entirely true. Dick wants to open the door and tell him. Wants Alfred to make the stains go away and, maybe, tell him it will be okay but it won't be -- it can't be because this isn't supposed to happen when you're thirteen years old and Dick watches the swirling swirling spinning of the sheets inside the machine. Round and round and round like a carousel and it makes him think of cotton candy vomit and laughter that sound more like screaming.  
  
Silently, he prays for the machine to be inaudible through the house. Prays for the stains to go away. Prays the detergent is enough, that the smell of lilacs will overpower the smell of failure and shame and inadequacy and he prays for an end.  
  
The machine hums and whirrs along with the creaking of his joints. He doesn't even remember sleeping. Just waking up one moment, everything soaked and warm but getting colder -- fabric sticking to his legs in a way that crawls through his skin. The smell took minutes before it hit him but when it did it punched right through.   
  
Warm and wet and revolting. He tries not to think of it because he's tired of crying; sick and tired of being this childish. It's just really difficult to keep the shame from overtaking everything; the methodical crime fighter in him knows it's an uncommon but not abnormal reaction to 'trauma'. The boy in him doesn't want to hear a word.  
  
Just watch the drum go round and round and round and pray that Alfred won't say a thing about it when morning comes and it's time to change sheets only to realize they've already been changed. Prays he doesn't find it strange at all when he collects the old ones only to find they're clean.   
  
Prays that this is all just one of his bad dreams and that maybe, in the morning, it will all go away.  
  


* * *

 

 

  
It's the day after Bruce's return and the whole house is silent as if waiting for something. Dick has a bad feeling the moment he steps out through his door. There isn't a sound to greet him at first, and something about the tranquility of the mansion has him on edge. It's not until he's halfway down the stairs that he hears voices from the dining room, mixed with Alfred's tinkering in the kitchen. Bruce is talking to someone and Dick momentarily considers heading back to his room before Alfred appears to see him.  
  
''Ah, master Dick. You're here, how good.''  
  
''Hey, Alfie'' Dick looks at the butler and wonders if it's still too late to run for it. ''Is someone here?''  
  
''Oh, yes. We do have a guest. Actually, he would like to meet you.''  
  
''Me? Is it Wally or..?''  
  
Then Alfred looks apologetic for some reason, something Dick knows is never a good sign. 

''Come with me, if you'd please, master Dick.''  
  
Alfred leads the boy with heavy steps through the corridor and into the dining room. Dick keeps his eyes on Alfred's back the entire time, his chest getting tighter and tighter as if he's being lead to an execution. When he finally, after what feels like eternities of unyielding tension, enters the room the first person he notices is someone entirely not Wally.  
  
''Manhunter..?''  
  
He has the appearance of a human but it's him alright. Dick searches for his mentor for some reassurance, an explanation to what the Martian of all people is doing there. But before Bruce has a chance to open his mouth, Dick's mind suddenly clicks.  
  
''I asked J'onn over ---''  
  
'' _No_ ''  
  
The two adults share a subtle glance, a knowing one, as Dick shakes his head in anger.  
  
''No, no, no, no --''  
  
''Dick, you need to --''  
  
''No, absolutely  _not_ , Bruce, I can't believe you'd go behind my back like -- actually, scratch that. I should have seen this coming.''  
  
A fast shimmer of emotion passes Bruce's face but is gone within a blink. He clenches his jaws minimally and a slight strain enters his voice when he speaks.  
  
''Dick, just talk to him. One hour, that's all.''  
  
''I said  _no_  --''  
  
''I don't care what you said.  _I_  said one hour.''  
  
''Oh, right, I forgot! It's always your word that matters'' Dick smacks his head. ''Stupid me! How could I forget that what I want doesn't count in this house?''  
  
''I will not tolerate rudeness in front of our guest!''  
  
''Hey, don't talk to me about rudeness when you go behind my back and --''  
  
''Richard, if I may put in a word'' J'onn rises out of his chair before the hostility in the room has a chance to overwhelm him. ''I do not wish to upset your or intrude on your privacy. I merely want to talk to you.''  
  
Dick sighs and rubs at his face, a spark of annoyance running through his skin and he is suddenly wide awake in anger. He's torn between glaring at Bruce and punching something, the wall maybe, but realizes it will only land him in more trouble than he feels like dealing with.   
  
''Look, Manhunter, obviously you've gotten the wrong information here. I don't  _want_  to talk to anyone. I'm sorry you had to get all the way out here for nothing.''  
  
''On the contrary, Richard. I am here only partially because of Bruce's request, but also on my own accord.''  
  
''Wait, what?''  
  
''I know that you are burdened and as such you may need to talk. Let off some steam, I believe is the expression?''  
  
Dick exhales sharply, viciously, and something akin to a scoff gets caught in his throat.  
  
''This is just  _fantastic_.''  
  
''Dick'' Bruce says ''listen to me --''  
  
''No, you listen to  _me_!'' Dick's eyes are hard with the need to damage, to rip and tear and ruin, and Bruce gets taken back momentarily because his ward has never ever looked at him like that before. ''I don't care if you have the unstoppable need to dictate every second of other people's lives. That's  _your_  problem so  _you_  can talk to J'onn, because you obviously have issues that need to be handled.  _I_ , however, am going back to my room and am not speaking to you in a foreseeable future.''  
  
''Dick''  
  
''Goodbye, J'onn. It was nice to see you. Say hi to Miss M for me.''  
  
'' _Dick_ ''  
  
The boy stops in his tracks before he has the time to cross the threshold; Bruce's voice strikes with the painful force of a whip and leaves him absolutely paralyzed. Anger moves within the man, anger and frustration and complete tiredness that fuels a determination much stronger than Dick's own. The boy only glances at him because he's too afraid of what will happen if he doesn't.  
  
''You are going to talk to J'onn and you are going to do it now. I don't care what you think about it but you will not leave his sight before I give permission. Are we clear?''  
  
Dick's mouth refuses to move, so Bruce puts more threat into his voice.  
  
''I said are we  _clear_?''  
  
''Yes, sir. Crystal.''  
  
''Good.'' Bruce looks at their guest. ''J'onn, will the library be sufficient?''  
  
''Yes, I believe that will be more than enough.''  
  
''Alright, then. Come with me.''  
  
Bruce walks ahead of him, grabs his ward's shoulder indelicately and proceeds to push him forward.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

''So'' the Martian says after ten minutes of silence.  
  
Dick has his head turned away, glaring intensely at something far off. His entire body is positioned in a way that tells of nothing but strong unwillingness, though J'onn doesn't need to see that to know how much the boy doesn't want this. Despite that he has his mind shut off from those of others most of the time, since it is rude to pry, the strength of Dick's many emotions is enough to seep through. Anger, betrayal, hurt being the most prominent, but in their midst he senses also fear.   
  
''Richard --''  
  
''Dick.''  
  
''Forgive me, Dick.'' He frowns momentarily. ''I know that this is far from what you want.''  
  
''That obvious, huh?''  
  
It is difficult to tell if there is what humans call 'sarcasm' in the boy's voice, and J'onn isn't very used to it, but the way Dick's mouth tightens tells him it is probably the best to assume as much.  
  
''You must realize that this is not done out of cruelty. We are simply concerned.''  
  
''Jesus'' With a sigh Dick shakes his head, leans it against his palm in quiet helplessness. ''I'll never hear the end of this, will I?''  
  
J'onn doesn't know how to respond, so he doesn't. Dick looks at him eventually, but is radiating with just as much anger and blame as when he wouldn’t.  
  
''What do you know about psychology, anyway? You're not even  _human._ ''  
  
Seconds after the words have left his mouth, he wishes they hadn't. The Martian doesn't look hurt, simply remains calm and his face gives away as little as always but Dick still can't help but feel like he’s slapped him.  
  
''I'm... I'm sorry, J'onn. That... that came out wrong, I --''  
  
''No, I understand. After all, how can an alien possibly know what you are going through? What do I know about the workings of your mind?''  
  
Dick squirms, the anger shrinking a little under the sudden guilt.  
  
''Something like that.''  
  
''I may be from another world, but Martians have feelings too.'' He looks up at a corner of the room, thoughtful as he remembers the many people and events he has seen through the years. The experience at Earth has been rattling, but educational just the same. ''Psyches and minds much like yours, if still different. I have spent many years on this Earth, Dick, and I have seen many minds. I may not understand fully, but I will understand enough.''  
  
The boy bites his lip and says nothing. Looks at his hands as they twitch slightly and hopes that if he just pretends he's someplace else, by some strange magic, eventually he will be. Far, far away from all of this.

   
''All I ask is that you let me try.''  
  
He watches the boy relentlessly, his look kind but still heavy and it pushes against Dick like a million waves. Eventually the boy sighs, and it looks like he's giving in as he straightens, places his hands on the armrests and gives J'onn a deep, honest look.  
  
''Alright. You want to talk?''   
  
''Yes.''  
  
The Martian nods as he feels hope for the briefest of seconds.  
  
''Okay. So who's your favorite Bond? I'm a Pierce Brosnan type of guy, myself.''

 

 

* * *

 

 

He wants to scream when he jolts out of sleep. Thankfully his jaws are clasped shut, his body paralyzed, hands gripping wet sheets like a lifeline during the time it takes for him to adjust to his new state of consciousness. It's a blurry, muddy mix of sleep and wakefulness, but it will have to do because he can't stay in his dreams any longer. Can't stay in his bed either because it's wet and the smell is sharp as it cuts his nostrils with the strong, acidic odor.  
  
He falls out of bed and into a crumpled mess on the floor, breaths fighting his throat for passage while he tries his hardest not to scream. Fights the urge to thrash and yell, only punches the floor as softly as he can.

 

He just needs to get the taste out of his mouth, get the smell off of him and make it  _go away_. It could be real, maybe not, he doesn't know, doesn't really care because it feels too real. There is the distinct  taste of blood at the back of his throat. Words ring too loudly in his head and he just needs it  _out_  of him.  


Time moves in unrelated jumps. One second he's in one place, the other he's on his knees on cold, hard tiles that hurt against the bone. A moment of hesitation, a pleading look at his reflection in the toilet water before thin fingers tear at his throat. Disregards the voice of reason that begs him not to damage anything -- brain pressure heart pressure tooth decay and throat cancer – as the acid burns hot and putrid.

 

‘’ _Your friends aren’t going to save you, Robin. They’ve left you here with me’’_

 

He half coughs, half retches up the stomach fluids and that one omelette Alfred guilted him into as the pieces get stuck inside his throat. He didn't know a human was supposed to make this much mucus, this much saliva but it's everywhere and eventually he doesn't see a thing because the pressure fills his eyes with tears. He doesn't really mind, these aren't tears of sadness which is refreshing for a change.  
  
'' _No one’s coming for you_ ''  
  
He punches the toilet, hears the moaning of the porcelain and the pain is so dull through the haze. His heartbeat drumming loudly in his ears before he takes a deep breath and pushes back the fingers, digs and claws in naked desperation but eventually he's simply coughing. The taste isn't bad or vile enough to remove the sticky sticky clinging choking feeling in the back of his mouth -- it's not enough and instead the feeling only grows, clogs up his throat and he bites his teeth down hard in order not to scream.   
  
When it feels like it's about to choke him, he gets to his feet shakily; stumbles around, hits his hip against the counter and without much thought or consideration throws his fist out in a punch that cracks the mirror. His lungs fight hard for air during the long, long moment it takes to stop his knees from shaking and before the room can completely stop spinning he punches the mirror again and -- the pain is refreshing because it hurts it hurts in a good way in his way in a controlled way and he's  _doing_  this.   
  
He's doing this,  _he_  is and no one else no one has that control of his body or his mind or his life or person and it's so  _liberating_. At least there's something left in the world and his broken mess of a life so he pushes. Pushes the fist, gentler, into the shards and pieces and twists.   
  
Tiny, innocent looking splinters cut at the skin and the blood is bright enough to be seen through the blur of the tears and the haze of his mind. His voice gets caught somewhere between a half chuckle and a half cry, but settles for a garbled noise as he feels the warmth of the blood drip drip drip drip drip with tiny little pearls of crimson into the sink where it disappears.

He can't stop the little chuckle, the tiny little sound that's not really much of a sound at all anymore as it is a hidden scream because the monster was right.  
  
There is no way out.  
  
The pain never ceases -- in his days in his nights his skin his bone his flesh his marrow -- and the memories never fade.   
The smells and the sounds are constant and unforgiving.  
Uncaring.  
  
In a way it's like he never really left that room at all. Like he'll never leave it.   
  
And it hits him, hits him with the force of everything he tries to fight. Long, long nights of pretending he can  _do_  this. That he's strong enough, trying to fool himself when all he's ever really done is keep the truth from speaking.  
  
He should have died there.

 

 

* * *

 

  
Bruce lied. Of course he did. Why should he be trustworthy when no one else is? One hour, how stupid of him to believe that he could trust in that. That he could trust in anyone.  
The choking filth, the one that lies slumbering in his throat just grows and seeps into everything. It's everywhere with the dirt and the fear and the shame and everything is  _wrong_.  
Briefly he wonders how much of this the man across him is hearing.  
  
''May I ask what happened to your arm?''  
  
_The pain turns so strong he no longer feels nothing but the desperate screaming clawing burning need to get out  
Get out get out get it out get it out_    
  
''No''  
  
_Scrub until it disappears, until it stops burning so hot underneath the skin he just needs it to stop --_  
  
''Are you reading my mind, right now?''  
  
''Is there something in there you don't want me to see?''  
  
_Bleed the poison out bleed the dirt and the smell the smells bleed it all **out**_  
  
''No, I'm not reading your mind, Dick.''  
  
_You're ruined ruined ruined and hopeless terrible awful how could anyone ever want you like this how could anyone ever  
  
ever  
  
forgive you?_  
  
Dick rips at the string in his shirt that came loose sometime, somewhere when this was all different. J'onn says nothing, much like the previous twenty minutes when the two just stared at each other. Like he thinks he can silently will Dick into obedience.   
  
''So, how long will you keep coming here?'' Dick says though he knows he won't like the answer. ''Not that it's not a pleasure to have you around.''  
  
_Useless pathetic a burden and weak so very weak no one wants you here no one needs you it's hopeless hopeless useless they all hate you they all **loathe**  what you've become _  
  
''For as long as I need to.''  
  
_you failed failed failed failed like you always always fail_  
  
He snorts.  
  
''Figures.''

 

* * *

 

  

''Seriously? Are we still doing this?''   
  
He sighs but it's not nearly enough to show how bored he is of the whole thing already. Like talking ever made anything better.  
  
''You seem surprised.''  
  
Like it could stop this.  
  
''I don't have anything to tell you.''  
  
He's counted every piece of furniture, every little chair and shelf and desk in the massive room. At least as far as his vision can reach. It's all he has to pass the time, for that long, long hour of silence as neither of them really speaks. J'onn does, occasionally, but he is remarkably patient. But Dick is stubborn and he doesn't feel like giving in just yet.  
  
''That is fine. I can wait.''  
  
He wants to ask him what for, but doesn't. Instead he turns his gaze to the nearest bookcase, estimates the sheer amount of books before his weary mind starts to count them.  
  
_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven --_  
  


* * *

  
  
''Do you want to talk about Wally?''  
  
''What  _about_  Wally?''  
  
''He is your best friend, from what I understand.''  
  
Dick rolls his eyes.  
  
''Yeah, so?''  
  
''So. Tell me about Wally.''  
  
Wally. Wally. Wally. Wally. Silly Wally. Dick doesn't want to talk about him because he doesn't want to think about him; it just hurts and he's tired of that.   
  
Wally who is the sweetest, kindest, dorkiest, stupidest smart person in the world.  
Wally who never disappoints and when he does he always makes up for it.  
Stupid, idiot, hilarious Wally.   
The best friend a person can have. Always honest and earnest and always, always doing his best.  
  
''He's great.''  
  
And he is. He really, really is.  
  
''Alfred says the boy has not been here for a while.''  
  
And it hurts.  
  
''No.''  
  
Why would he be? Why would he want to? After the dreadful, horrible, stupid scene he caused in school. Why would Wally want the bother?  
He's too much, too much to handle. Too much for him to carry and why would he want to listen to some sniveling, crying little thirteen year old weakling who can't even stop  _crying_  for just one stupid day?  
Why would  _anyone_  want that?  
  
''Did you have a fight?''  
  
And Wally is sweet enough to lie about it. Honest little Wally is lying to him. Because that's how good he is.  
Telling Dick what he thinks he wants to hear.  
  
''No.''  
  
Except yes, yes, they did, they had a horrible fight but a needed one, a necessary and crucial one because Wally put his cards on the table and said what Dick had always known. All this time, he just knew.  
  
''He was very eager to help you when I met him last.''  
  
And it's good that it's out in the open now, between them. Because Dick shouldn't even be near him what with the disgusting stinking rotting  _filth_  of him because what if what if  _what if_  
  
''Is that so.''  
  
What if he taints him?  
Stains him?  
_Ruins_  him?  
  
J'onn looks at him in a way that means he's hiding something. But Dick doesn't really care what that thing would be. Just keeps counting the books and they spend the remaining forty minutes in silence.  
  
_Two hundred and sixteen --_  
  


* * *

  
  
''Are all Martians this stubborn?''  
  
''Most of us, yes.''  
  
He sighs.  
  
''Great.''  
  
Just great.  
  


* * *

  
  
_Four hundred and seventy eight, four hundred and seventy nine, four hundred and eighty, four hundred and --_  
  


* * *

  
  
''It's my fault.''  
  
''What is?''  
  
He grimaces.  
  
''Everything.''  
  
''What makes you think that?''  
  
The words gently pull at his mouth, but he can't gather the energy to speak them.   
They say nothing more for the rest of the day.  
  


* * *

  
  
''It is alright to be afraid. I admit that I was, at first.''  
  
''I'm not.''  
  
Except he is.  
  


* * *

 

 

Bruce has asked J'onn to read his mind, once or twice or maybe more. J'onn curtly refuses but each time his resolve slackens.  
Each session, his despair increases.  
Frustration.  
  
But no. That would not be right; would not be acceptable. These things take time, he knows that. Sometimes a lot, sometimes a little. And Dick is relenting, a little more each day. It's a slow process, but it  _is_  a process. The Martian knows better than most that such processes need to go at their own certain pace, because one cannot rush results if they are to be appeasing.  
  
So he waits. He's good at that, has had a lot of practice and his patience is a feat in and of its own.   
  
He can wait forever, if he must.   
  


* * *

  
  
It's unfair to keep them hoping and believing that he can pull through this.  
Cruel, really. It's amazing that they still believe; they must be blind or just plain dumb, maybe it's wishful thinking on their part because he can't do this. Could never do this and it was stupid of him to even think he could amount to anything  
  
_One thousand and ninety two, one thousand and ninety three_  
  


* * *

  
  
He doesn't talk at all, today. Just stares.  
  
J'onn waits patiently as always.   
Doesn't mind the silence as much as he thinks he should.  
  


* * *

  
  
The Martian contemplates briefly if maybe this is the time to cross the line, maybe it is time to break the rules he himself established.  
But he discards the thought just as quickly as it came.  
  


* * *

 

 

  
  
Maybe just a little peek?  
  


 

* * *

  
  
No. He cannot. Must not.  _Will not._  
  
But wants to.  
  


* * *

  
  
_Two thousand and two, two thousand and three, two thousand and four, two thousand and five --_  
  


* * *

  
  
''This is stupid. I'm not going to talk to you.''  
  
''Why not?''  
  
''Because it won't help.''  
  
''How can you be so sure when you haven't tried?''  
  
Because talking can't change what happened. It couldn't four years ago and it sure as hell won't be able to, now.  
It couldn't bring them back just like it can't erase the past.  
  
''Because unless you're Zatara and your words can magically change the world --''  
  
Things happened. And this is pointless.  
  
''Dick, bottling things up will only lead to an eruption. You are strong, but you are not impervious to psychological damage.''  
  
But he's  _not_  strong. He's not strong at all. Why can't they see?   
He's weak. Always has been. Always will be.  
And there's not a single word that can change that.  
  


* * *

  
  
''You lost weight.''  
  
Dick doesn't respond because it doesn't matter.   
  
''Dick, I am getting... concerned about you.''  
  
''Why?''  
  
It doesn't matter much that he let go. Let go of everything. Of emotions and dreams and his mind.  
It crackles and topples over  
Dies  
Slowly  
  
But it's okay. It's okay, he doesn't mind. The more it burns the less it hurts.  
  


* * *

  
  
Fearless?  
How about petrified.  
  


* * *

  
  
''Have you told anyone about what happened?''  
  
It's not fair. He shouldn't be this trapped. His life on repeat, repeat repeat over and over rewinding but never forwarding and he's tired tired that it paused, in the place where it hurts the most and he just wants to decide, for himself, what to do about it. He thought he could control it, get his life back with the exercise the sleeping the showering that maybe if he dictated every waken second of his life he could get back the control he lost that got ripped away maybe if he cracked another jaw or eye or lip or tooth maybe if he hurt someone else a little bit more the pain would stop and he would get his life back but they  
  
Took it stole it and it's not his anymore it's theirs  
Theirs to play with and dictate and he lost  
He lost and he hates it  
  
Hates it because it's ceaseless  
  


* * *

  
  
  
''This is pointless.''  
  
''I would not be doing this if I thought it was.'  
  
''You can't make it go away.''  
  
''I can help you live with it''  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

* * *

  
  
  
But he doesn't want to live with it  
He wants it to stop  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

* * *

  
  
_Nine thousand._


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw suicide attempt

‘'Did she scream?''  
  
''They always do.''  
  
He asks him of his work, of his art and Picasso gladly tells him. There's that pride in his eyes which most people lack. People are always apologizing for their deeds, but not him. No, not this guy. He enjoys it. He loves what he's accomplished and he loves telling Joker about it. Maybe because Joker is the only one who understands. Who appreciates good craftsmanship and the blood, sweat, the heart and the effort put into his work.   
  
''Did she beg?''  
  
''Not at first. But she cracked.''  
  
Here he'd gone and thought that Picasso wasn't much of a conversationalist, and, maybe that’s true. But he’s a heck of a story teller. You just have to pick the right subject, and Picasso can talk for hours on end.  
  
Even so, there’s always a false type of modesty to his words. He never reveals too much at once, instead sparks questions and participation in his listener. Pulls you into the story and its world until you can  _smell_  the blood, the pus and the screams, the cold, cold screams are as vivid to the listener as it has been to the victim.  
  
''They always crack, eventually.''  
  
Joker laughs, claps his hands and demands more.  
  
''Tell me, Picasso''  
  
So the Artist gives it to him. They always do.  
  
''Yes?''  
  
''Tell me about the bird.''

 

* * *

  
  
  
It's not that he's worried.  
  
It might seem that way seeing how he's been camping out on this roof for the last two days, and many more like it long before that. It's been a while since the confrontation with the League and though at first the cold was unbearable, he got used to it. Just like he got used to the thickness of the air and the devouring, sucking type of darkness the city surrounds itself with.   
  
It's not like it's a lot better in Star City, but it  _is_  better.  
  
So he sucks it up, gets used to it, wears thicker socks and learns to breathe like a Gothamnite. He's not sure that's a good thing, but it's what needs to be done.   
  
Ollie isn't supportive, but Roy expected as much. Neither is he very  _un_ supportive, mostly just a kind of middle ground. Is portive a good word?   
Dinah was harder to get around but eventually, when she saw the resolve in his eyes, she patted him mildly on the shoulder, gave him a thermos of hot chocolate and sent him on his merry way. Ensured him that their city was safe with them and that he needn't think about it. He had other things to do.  
  
Batman hasn't confronted him about it, which is odd because the man should know by now. Having someone outside their jurisdiction and treading into his territory has never gone down well in the past. Roy spent the first three days expecting to get a Batarang hurled at his face but it never came. Which is what frightens him most; it's what sends a chill down his spine because if Batman is alright with it, it can only be because there is no other solution. The Caped Crusader who strikes fear into the hearts of the worst scum of the Earth is grasping at straws.  
  
Roy could be more straight-forward about it and just head straight to the mansion, but he doesn't. Probably won't in the near future. Partially because yes, he's terrified, but mostly because the mansion is the last place he thinks he's needed. Alfred is there, Bruce as well - whatever good that'll do - and if something goes wrong over there he'll only end up getting in the way. If something were to happen, Roy's not entirely convinced it will be there.  
  
And it's not that he's worried, really.  
  
Not that it spreads through his skin, that heavy, terrible feeling. Through his joints and ligaments and seeps into his mouth, lays itself like toffee around his teeth. It's just that it's the best approach. Or, so he hopes.   
  
He may not be part of the team, but he is part of the family. This is what families do. They look out for each other. He may not be the best of family members or the best of friends, but he makes an effort to be good enough.  
So Roy waits. Sips his chocolate, shifts his body every now and then to chase away the stiffness and watches.  
  
Silently, patiently, as the world goes by.

 

 

* * *

 

This was his finest piece of work, that much is obvious. Not only in the way he words his sentences, pushes them out like people in a crowded subway line, the queue to the escalators as he's late for his train. Nothing can get out quick enough and oh, if Joker could only know the wonders. It's the smells that really bring life to it. The sounds. It's one of those things when you simply had to be there.  
  
But Picasso speaks, tries to show it through words and slow, gentle gestures. His mouth never loosens from the tiny little smile and the spark in his eyes burns bright against the darkness that otherwise resides within them. It's like looking into the dark, swallowing depth of a tunnel and seeing headlights.  
  
Slowly, at first. Then so fast you can't react at all.  
  
Just get hit by it. Lie squirming in a pile of limbs and innards on the tracks.  
Gargle as blood fills your throat and drowns you.  
  
It's a horrible way to die. But a good way to tell a story.  
  
And it's such a wonderful story, such a marvelous collection of words that paint images as easy as with brushes on canvas. Picasso does what any good artist does and paints him a whole picture, vivid and real and so right there he swears it's almost good enough to touch. Joker applauds like any good audience and Picasso simply smiles. Prouder and prouder as his audience gives him recognition. Appreciation.  
  
Joker asks him how his skin felt, against your bare hands. How his blood smells and his sweat tastes, how the panic in his body vibrates through your being. It touches him deeply, profoundly in a way no story ever did before. It shakes within him a hideous anger. Fury. Jealousy and rage.  
  
He feels his mouth twitch before his face even knows what it's doing; before his brain can fully calculate what movements it has planned for him and suddenly there's no need to think at all. Just laugh and laugh high in the sky, high as a burning kite because it's just hilarious. Hysterical. A beauty in it all that doesn't pass the Joker by unnoticed.  
  
''What's funny?'' Picasso asks and he seems annoyed because there wasn't really a joke in there.  
  
The tar grows and swells and multiplies within his body, within his mind and soul and heart until his entire being is nothing but pitch black, screaming fury. The jealousy grips his mind like strings to a marionette and he dances, dances and jigs to its whims like the most marvelous of prima ballerinas.   
  
''Nothing.'' Joker says but still can't stop laughing.  
  
Picasso doesn't understand, can't hear the death knell hidden in that sound.  
  
Which is really, when you think about it, the funniest part of all.

  


* * *

 

  
It happens faster than he thought.  
  
He doesn't even have enough time to see it coming. Maybe he's been staring at details for too long, because his peripheral is blind to the little blur of movements and lights. His ears deaf to the sound of voices that murmur and whisper. He had kept to the same area every night; never strayed too far from this part of town because this is where Robin’s gone the past weeks. This is where some of the taller, some of the older and most iconic buildings are.   
  
They are the best to leap from and that’s exactly what Robin has been doing, all these nights that Roy keeps watching him. Sees him leap and climb and leap time and time again, before he goes on to pick fights with whatever criminal is out and about that night. Roy changes buildings every once in a while mostly not to get bored, and he thought that he had enough of a view of the entire area to notice it before it happened. But he doesn't, because it's not here that it happens.  
  
After waiting nights on end for so long he eventually knows the train schedule just by sound, it comes as too much of a surprise. He expected -- well, so he's not really sure what he expected, but something else. A sound, a silhouette in the shadows, a tiny little look of apology. Mostly he expected to  _see_  him before it happened.  
  
But he doesn't, he only sees the blue lights. Hears the police sirens and the dim snap of camera shutters. Roy stumbles to his feet quickly, limbs unused to moving at this point, before he shoots an arrow with a rope tied to one end and hopes it will be quick to carry him over.  
  
''Sh _it_ '' is all he can really think of saying.

 

 

* * *

 

  

''Shit''  
  
''Oh, my god, who is that?''  
  
''It's just a boy, shit, do you see that? He's just a boy''  
  
''People, this is a  _restricted area_  -- I will not ask you again to  _move_  out of the way!''  
  
''Officer, officer! A statement, if you'd please?''  
  
''Where the hell is Batman when you need him?''  
  
Bullock rubs his eyes and lets escape a sigh of tired frustration; the civilians are loud, appalled and barely manageable. It's only been minutes since he called out for back up but it still irks him that no one has arrived yet. It's just him and some other officers, sealing the civilians off from him and the reporters from the civilians, the tall building standing cruel and mocking against a dark red sky.   
  
''Any word from them negotiators?''  
  
''N-n-ot yet, Officer Bullock''  
  
The larger man glares at his colleague, knows it's not  _really_  his fault -- he's just some damn rookie with no clue of up and down or how to wipe his nose -- but he blames him, anyway. Gives him a rotten glare before he turns his attention back towards the sky.   
  
It's a tall building, alright, much as most of Gotham. But he sees the kid, clinging onto a ledge like a wet cat to the edge of a bathtub. The reporters are many, but not as many as they will be; they're like a giant swarm of wasps, or cockroaches, perhaps. You squash one and a thousand more arrive, out of the darkest corners of the city.   
  
''Looks like we'll have to do without them for a while'' He stretches his hand out and flexes his fingers in a demanding gesture, but as his hand remains empty he eventually turns himself around to glare at the other officers. ''What are ya', blind? Can I get me a damn megaphone?!''  
  
The rookie cop, shameful of his cluelessness quickly scrambles into the car and pulls out the requested object with a look of sincere apology. Bullock ignores him and steps behind the police tape, points the megaphone upwards, takes a deep breath and presses the button. This really isn't his thing.  
  
''Hey, kid, I d'no if ya can hear me, but if ya can, wave a lil' for me, okay?''  
  
The kid turns his head towards him but it's too far away to see his facial expression. He looks familiar though, somehow.   
  
''Kid, c'mon, nothin' fancy or anything. It's just a lil' wave. Or anything ya'd like, that's fine''  
  
Flashes of cameras go off somewhere to his side and people whisper, tensely, expectantly, as if they breathe too strongly the kid will fall.   
  
He's not too high up, could've scaled Wayne Enterprises for a really good drop but Bullock assumes the kid hasn't got the guts for it. Instead he's climbed some stupid, ugly piece of brick. Probably just an attention seeker, he reckons.   
  
Then, suddenly, the kid waves. Bullock bites down the enormous urge to be anywhere that is not here at all and speaks again.  
  
''Listen, I'm officer Harvey Bullock from the Gotham City Police Department. What I’d love from ya is for yous to get inside that building, nice an’ safe, ya hear?''  
  
Why he has to deal with this is anyone's guess. He was finishing paperwork, about to go home and have a few beers, enjoy some quiet time away from this rotten city when some jumper had to go ruin it all. It's not really fair that he's the one doing the speaking, but he _is_ the closest and, as it is, his colleagues won't do much better. It's a shame Montoya isn't on the scene, she'd be a lot better with it, he's sure.

But he's gotten the short straw and  _someone_  needs to keep the nutjob busy until the negotiation team arrives.   
  
''Maybe he can't hear you'' the rookie officer pipes up, like anyone asked for his opinion.  
  
''Shut up''   
  
The rookie cop looks away. 

''Hey, kid! C'mon, work with me here. I ain't no miracle worker!''  
  
There is a loud gasp that rips through the crowd of reporters next to him, and though at first he doesn't notice it; he has learned to ignore them most of the time, has to, because he can't afford another assault charge on those rats. They deserved it, though. They always deserve it.   
  
There is excitement, and a special kind of blood-lust mastered only by the journalists of Gotham. Ink-lust, Montoya calls it. Bullock doesn't know an awful lot of things, but he knows enough to tell when they've smelled something good. When they get that same look in their eyes as that of a pack of starved wolves who just picked up a scent, suffice it to say he knows it's going to be nothing but trouble.  
  
''Oh, my dear lord'' a woman in a tweed suit smacks the shoulder of her accompanying cameraman as she holds his camera in her hands. ''Oh my god, you see who that  _is_?''  
  
The cameraman squints his eyes at the zoomed up image on the digital display, state of the art stuff and that it would save his career on this of all nights he never would have expected.  
  
''Shit'' he says, and the reporter nods.  
  
‘''Yeah''  
  
''Shit shit shit shit shit''  
  
She nods again.  
  
'' _Holy shit_ '' he half-whispers, half-squeals. ''Holy fucking shit!''  
  
''I know!''  
  
''We've struck  _gold_ ''  
  
Bullock inhales, exhales, one time, two times, as many as the anger management fellow down at headquarters told him that third time he punched someone on duty.   
  
''What's the damn ruckus?'' he points glaring eyes at the two reporters as many others stretch on their toes to see over their shoulders. It is a unified chorus of murmurs and profanities that leave their mouths, and suddenly everyone is whipping out a phone. ''Hey! I'm talkin' to you! Ya got somethin' useful on your fancy camera?''  
  
The reporter in tweed and her young, un-shaven colleague simply look at him with eyes wide in wonder. And then they smile.  
  
''That'' the woman points towards the building. ''Is Richard Grayson.''

 

 

* * *

  


 

Part of Dick is happy while another part of him gets overwhelmed by a cold wave of panic.   
  
He holds onto the ledge with cramping hands, his skin is raw and dry and close to bleeding in the crisp night. The joints in his fingers turned immobile a little over a while ago and it's with the slightest hint of irritation that he wonders why he didn't bring his gloves. Not that he had been thinking, really, and the right clothing for this kind of adventure had been the last thing on his mind. Dick isn't really sure how he even got this far, there hasn't been much of a plan to it. Just a silence in his mind, a vacuousness, while his heart keeps thundering in his chest like the wildest pair of animal feet. The poachers are approaching, and briefly he's reminded of something his father once told him.  
  
_''There's nothing wrong with being afraid, Dick. Fear is normal, fighting it is like fighting breathing. When you let it control your life is where it gets dangerous. Fear is a tool, Dick, not a weakness. Use it to your advantage. Think of the lion tamer; he has a hungry beast locked with him, but he doesn't let the fear take him over. He doesn't run away because the lion will still be there. Eventually he has to return and by then the lion will just be hungry.''  
  
''But the lion has feeders, dad''_    
  
His father would smirk, like he usually did when Dick was too young or too naïve to understand much of anything.   
  
'' _I'm trying to make a metaphor here, Dick.''  
  
''Sorry.''  
  
''My point is that even though the lion is big and scary and has claws and fangs and is ready to eat him, the lion tamer can't run away from the lion because ignoring a beast doesn't make it go away. It will only get impatient. So what the lion tamer does instead is he gets in there, takes his fear on and wrestles that lion.''  
  
''Lion tamers don't wrestle --''  
  
''I _ know _they don't wrestle the lions, Dick. Metaphor, remember?''_  
  
''Right.''  
  
''So. He goes in there and he grabs that cat by its fangs and fights it. And that's what you have to do, too.''

The sirens are flashing a bright, screeching red and blue as a searchlight sweeps over the building. Cold and angry and it brings him nothing but a gnawing panic; he takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself but still can't stop his knees from trembling. It's a familiar feeling that brings back images of a time so long ago, a time when the lights were different, a softer golden yellow that shielded the faces of a crowd. He couldn't be nervous when there was no face to gaze at him, from far down there. But he was always nervous, just in case.  
  
_''But dad, Graysons are fearless. It's even on the poster --''  
  
''I know it's on the poster, son. But being fearless isn't about never feeling fear.''  
  
''Yeah, that makes sense. Or not.''_  
  
The whispering gasping talking swarming of voices down below feel like an audience and the dirty, filthy city streets littered and ruined look kind of like the big ring. Almost, if he squints a little.  
  
_''Son, it's about accepting and dealing with that fear. I'm trying to tell you that the moment you start running away from a problem is the moment it's going to get stronger and you're going to get weaker. The moment you run is the moment you're letting it win. And when the lion catches up with you, it's going to be really hungry, and you're going to be really tired.''  
  
''I thought the lion was in the cage.''  
  
''Maybe the lion metaphor was a bad choice. Okay, let's say it's an alligator...''_  
  
It made no sense back then. Part of him wonders if it would have mattered, had he understood what his father tried to tell him.   
  
''Hey, kid, I d'no if ya can hear me, but if ya can, wave a lil' for me, okay?''  
  
The officer, Bullock, he knows him. Has met him many nights when on patrol. He's a good one. Or, as good as they can be in Gotham. He wasn't very keen on Batman at first, but then again, who was? Wasn't very keen on Robin either, but he'd grown on him. Dick remembers the man likes old and silly movies and Dick feels a sort of calm at having the officer there. It feels fitting, in a way.  
  
''Kid, c'mon, nothin' fancy or anything. It's just a lil' wave. Or anything ya'd like, that's fine''  
  
Dick doesn't know why, but he waves at him. It feels right to do so, for some reason. Maybe because nothing is really  _logical_  or reasonable about the entire scene, maybe because Bullock's just kind of nice despite his personality and Robin kind of missed him.  
  
''Listen, I'm officer Harvey Bullock from the Gotham City Police Department. What I’d love from ya is for yous to get inside that building, nice an’ safe, ya hear?''  
  
In between all the conflicting swirls of panic and guilt and a countless other things he doesn't want to think about, he can't help but feel that they're making too much of a scene about this. It wasn't his intention to cause all this commotion, and hadn't Roy been lurking around the good buildings for the past weeks, well, he wouldn't even be on this particular one. Had he been thinking clearly in the first place, he wouldn't even  _be_  on this ledge.

But he is, nevertheless. And how was he to know that people would see him here? How was he to know that reporters would respond quicker than the damn  _fire department_ , and how was he to foresee that this was going to get so out of hand? He doesn't  _want_  them there, doesn't want their eyes and flashing cameras. He just wants it to stop.  
  
Just. Stop.  
  
''Hey, kid! C'mon, work with me here. I ain't no miracle worker!''  
  
No, he's not. And he can't change anything. Hell, Dick's only plan for the night was to work on his dropkick, but that didn't exactly pan out the way he'd thought. For a while it was like he simply left his body, let something else take control and guide him to where he needs to be.   
  
As he stands on the ledge and looks down at the crowd, Dick can't fight the feeling that this is the only thing in these past months that has ever felt right. He hadn't left the manor with much of a plan, not even the slightest thought. Simply automatic, moving as if his body knew where to go, his brain kept silent and just tagged along for the ride. He was pulled, towards something, towards this place, and when Dick found himself up there, everything started to make sense.  
  
He  _knows_  it's wrong. Knows that's stupid thinking and he's ashamed of himself for forgetting his father's words. For not taking them to heart and ignoring them, like he always ignored him. Dad always said so many strange things, it was impossible for an eight year old to know the true importance of them. And it feels like he failed, again, because he knew all along that lions had to be tackled. Despite that, Dick still ran. He sprinted off like a gazelle and never looked back. He's terrified, still after all this time and tired, too, so tired of running. Of pretending that the lion isn't at his door, hiding so that he'll never have to face it.  
  
Deep down he knows that this is wrong. Knows he can't be this selfish because the world doesn't stop hurtling into chaos because he stops looking at it. The world needs heroes. He  _needs_  to be a hero, but there is no strength left for that. He doesn't even care, anymore. The world is still there, it hasn't stopped moving or spinning and people still go about their day. He hasn't really been Robin for months and Gotham is still standing. So really, how much do they  _really_  need him? Batman was always the main act, anyway.  
  
''--ick Grayso -- ''  
  
''-- gold, we stru --''  
  
''-- call the editor in chi --''  
  
They don't need  _him_.  
  
''-- hell is negotiatio --''  
  
'' -- ordon says to -- ''  
  
And he certainly doesn't need this.


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw themes of suicide and violence

The wall comes down within seconds but the sound lingers much longer than that. That's the thing about explosives, he supposes; you always get more than you bargained for.

The alarms don't go off which is good, it means Harley did her job for once. Not that it matters, it was quite a large ruckus and unless she did a good job on that part of the plan too, the guards should be swarming in any second now. Though the longer he waits the more the silence settles over the wing, and it seems after many long, eventless minutes that the coast is clear enough for him to go.

Killer Croc is the first to start smashing at the glass that confines him. He swings his long, thick tail into blows so strong they would be fatal against flesh and bone, but the glass is thick and durable and only cracks a little; the only proof of his efforts being the tiniest of lines running along its blank surface.

''That's odd'' Joker says and he feels Picasso look at him.

''What is?''

''The glass'' A hand rises to stroke his chin in thought as he can't quite fight the distinct taste on the tip of his tongue that something about this isn't completely right. ''The locks aren't disabling.''

Not that he can be too sure because it's mostly Harley pulling the strings, seeing how he's behind walls and all, and though he did devise the plan the finer details are a little fussy in his mind. Actually, there is a great lack of theatrics, of drama and flare, which is what really bothers him about it. Harley knows he likes to go out with a bang and though the explosion was a nice touch, it's just a tad too unspectacular.

''You're behind this?'' the Artist raises his brows in mild awe. ''Impressive.''

''You didn't think I had it in me, did ya?'' He snickers a little, can't really help it because it's just too much fun when the Artist looks like that. ''But I'm not too sure. It's a bit plain, don't you think?''

The Artist doesn't have the time to answer as another explosion throws them off balance. He stumbles a little, back and forth and the limp becomes too much trouble as it bumps him into the glass; Joker can't stop the laugh that surges through his throat like a river of acid and the whole thing is just made even funnier when no one else appreciates the humor in it.

''Yooohoo!'' A cheerful voice that sounds annoyingly familiar demands their attention, and when Joker sees who it is he only laughs harder.

''Riddler?''

''Hello, Joker'' the man raises his hat in a pleasant greeting. ''Not surprised to find you here.''

''Well, you shouldn't be'' he shrugs, facial expression vivid to a point where it becomes overdramatic. ''But what can I say? They do have the most fantastic pudding.''

''Ah, speaking of puddings'' Riddler nods to someplace far off behind him and clicks his tongue. ''Your girlfriend is out there. What an odd coincidence.''

''You know me, odd is my schtick''

''Would someone mind telling me what's going on?''

Picasso sounds annoyed, so Joker presses himself against the glass wall that separates their cells, his face flat against the surface as his grin grows bigger and bigger.

''Well, Picasso, it looks like we're going home for the holidays!''

''Then why isn't the glass moving?''

He opens his mouth to say something, a finger in the air, realizes he doesn't have a good answer to the question and instead turns accusatory eyes at the Riddler.

''Yes, Green Pants, why is that?''

Nygma shakes his head with a tiny little sigh.

''Tsk, tsk. You people.'' He taps the top of his cane to produce a strange, sparking kind of noise. ''Can't rush a genius, lads. Hey, Harvey!''

The cane buzzes for a little while before the garbled voice of Two-Face tunes in and out, drowning in the erratic swarm of static.

'' -- _damn idiot --_ ''

''Harvey?''

''--- _she - - uined the --- ontrol pad -- rying to -- zzzzzzzzKTTT --- shoot some -- ody --_ ''

He frowns momentarily before giving the cane another tap. As the communication disturbances don't alleviate, he finally gives an oh-well-kind of shrug and slams the cane against a nearby wall. They watch him quietly, slightly intrigued by his actions. Riddler eventually, after a wee bit of struggle, returns the cane to his mouth and tries again.

''Hello? Harvey, dear?''

'' -- _ought to -- ng --- shove it up your --_ ''

''Houston? Do we have a problem?''

The cane sparkles a little more and just as Nygma is about to slam it against a wall again, a terrible, high pitched screeching releases from it and pushes their heads back in a collective cringe.

''Turn that thing off!'' Croc roars, clawed hands grasping at sensitive ears.

''Shush, you!'' Riddler dismisses him and waits for the feedback, which is now more of a very strange buzzing sound, to end. ''Let's try this again, Harvey, can you --''

'' -- _am going to kill you for this, Nygma_ ''

''That's just precious but we have bigger things to handle right now''

'' _Explosion knocked out most of the computers, caused some kind of jam in the lockdown system. Taken ages to get these idiots to stop crying long enough to do something useful about it_.''

''So are we go?''

'' _Any second, now._ ''

Riddler turns his gaze up towards the ceiling and they all can't help but follow him in his action. Seconds pass by with nothing happening, except for maybe the smallest of tremors running through the ground. Riddler is just about to speak again when the cells finally make a hissing sound; he draws a breath of relief because at least something is going according to plan. If only barely.

The front glass walls slide upwards, slowly and steadily, but up they go. Riddler smiles in pride of this accomplishment, then gives the others a little nod.

''That's the stuff, gentlemen. Enjoy your break-out!''

''Oughta eat you where you stand, Riddle man'' Croc growls and snarls as he towers threateningly above him. ''But I have better things t' do.''

''Very kind of you, Croc!'' he lifts his hat at him even though the large reptilian man has already started walking away from him. ''Much appreciated!''

He swirls around happily, reaches into the pocket of his jacket and flips out a little note pad. Meanwhile the Joker, bored already, stretches out his long legs into the corridor.

''Ah!'' Riddler looks up with a smile. ''There you are.''

Joker looks at Riddler, then at the most bemused face of Picasso, back to Riddler again before his brow furrows in confusion. This is peculiar.

''Do I know you?'' Picasso narrows his eyes, looks defensive in a way. It's very subtle, as are most things with him, but Nygma sees it, and Joker sees that smugness on the Riddler's face.

''No, you don't. Not yet, at least. But don't worry'' The smugness grows and with it Picasso's own apprehension. ''We're going to get to know each other very well. Just wait until you meet Harvey! He's twice as fun as me, if you catch my drift.''

''This must be some kind of mistake.''

''Oh, no, not at all! No, this is very much intentional, Mr. Ornithologist.''

The name is weird to Joker's ears, doesn't fit the man at all. He's not a silly feather freak, good heavens, no. He's a genius, an artist, an innovator of his generation. But the name seems to hit something inside of him, because the look on Picasso's face is terrible. His eyes stay on Riddler as if the man was his mother in law and this was their first encounter; and Joker feels a bit like his lunch has just been stolen.

'' _Nygma_ '' Two-Face's voice barks from the cane and their eyes are drawn towards it like it's the most curious thing in the world. '' _We better move now or we're gonna end up in a cave._ ''

''Ah.''

'' _I'll be outside, with the ---''_  the transmission is interrupted by the loud revving of an engine, a most roaring sound that rips through the air with great force. For some reason the Riddler can't quite figure out it brings a smile to the Joker's lips. '' -- _Nygma, the -- SKKttch -- zzzzzSSkkk -- crazy --- broad_!''

''Harvey, what's going -- ?''

'' -- _m -- ove_!''

The line is overtaken by that same ear-splitting screech and before he knows what to make of it, the transmission has ended. Riddler gives his cane a look of uttermost confusion, biting his lip before he glances suspiciously around him.

''That was weird.'' He shakes the cane a little. ''What on Earth was he -- ''

The roaring rips through them, right down to soles of their feet and when the vehicle thunders down the corridor, the rumbling of its wheels shakes the lining of their guts. Riddler barely has time to get out of the way before the giant vehicle, filthy with the dust from fallen walls and supporting beams, comes to a heart-jerking halt. Joker stands still and confident in his place, smile growing wider and wider as it stops mere inches from him.

''Hiya, puddin'!''

''Hello, Harley.''

The rest of the moment passes so quickly it seems more like a jumbled mess of different incidents than any one event . The ringing in his ears dizzy him, and Riddler is finding it obnoxiously difficult to stand straight. He wobbles and stumbles and falls to his knees, not really realizing what's about to happen before it's too late.

''What are you --''

Joker grabs the Artist carelessly by the neck and the man is toppled too off balance to make much of a fight. The old injury in his leg shoots and flares and the limp immobilizes him, debilitates him long enough for the Joker to throw him brutally into the back. Harley giggles as she throws him the strait jacket and despite being so wiry, Joker doesn't have to fight too much to wrestle the Artist into it.

''Joker, what are you doing?!'' Riddler shrieks as he finally manages to get to his feet. ''That's our hostage!''

''Aw, shoo! Share your toys, ya big meanie!'' the Joker waves his hand at him, before it turns into a wave of farewell. ''We have to go play now. I'd let you tag along but there's barely enough room for the three of us!''

''Joker!''

''Toodelooo!''

Nygma throws himself after the car but is too late; it has already sped off and he only barely grazes a headlight with his face. The roaring of the engine fills the corridor like a large, oppressing presence and the only thing really audible over it is the wild, maniacal laughter of a madman. A sharp pain moves within the RIddler's nose and despite his best efforts he can't manage to get himself up.

As he lies on the ground, the dust settling around him, creeping into his lungs, his cane sparks to life. Harvey says something on the other end, but his ears are filled with only silence; he'd try to reply anyway if his nose wasn't bleeding so much.

Riddler spits and coughs, tries to see something through the immobilizing pain and is only very barely aware of the dark, looming shadow that falls over him.

 

* * *

 

''Joker, what are you -- ''

The wind is an unstoppable force as it rushes past them; it tousles Harley's blonde locks as she swerves and drives in any way but the right way. As the car speeds over a particularly steep hill it tickles in their bellies, and Harley and Joker both laugh in unison.

''We are going to have a little good old fashioned fun, you and I.''

He struggles against the jacket, but it's pointless and his entire body hurts. Not only because of the fact that he keeps being slammed around, unfastened in the vehicle which throws him around like a sack of flour, but also because it's hard to even think straight with all the pain ripping through his leg. The Joker looks at him with eyes that all light seems to escape. He smiles, but it's wide and unsettling and dead and he's not so sure the joy he sees on the man's face is a good thing.

''Say, Picasso, do you like _fiestas_?''

This isn't how it's supposed to happen, he's not supposed to be in these types of situations. And it's strange, this unfamiliar, alien feeling that stretches along his body. He's never been at the hands of a madman and the person in front of him seems as if changed, replaced by a ruthless evil and it haunts him so deeply and so strongly, the Artist can't bring to mind ever feeling anything quite like it before.

''What? Why?''

Joker leans in to whisper in his ear with a softness that makes the words cut worse than razors.

''Because I am going to tear you open like a piñata''

The Joker laughs again, unrestrained and free and terrible and it only makes the strange sensation in him grow larger. Larger and larger until it blocks his airways, rattles his heart and twists his stomach into an aching knot.

The feeling, he realizes, is fear.

 

* * *

 

 

Wally is only half-heartedly watching the fruit flavored cereal swim about in his bowl. They're Dick's favorite, he thinks, though the boy usually just skips the milk and digs straight into the box. It’s just one of those things he never really understood about him, but liked nonetheless.

Despite the rumbling of his stomach he can't say he's very hungry; his mind is much too cluttered for any one emotion to pierce through and he is only slightly aware of the world around him.

In the living room adjacent to the kitchen his parents are sitting comfortably, relaxing against each other as they watch the evening news in silence. Wally isn't really paying attention to anything, especially not the news, and he would have remained in his inattention hadn't it been for his mother's gasp.

''Oh, my god'' she says, with that special kind of pitch that makes his heart shrink. Wally knows that tone. ''Isn't that..?''

Wally has moved into the living room so fast his spoon doesn't have time to hit the floor; when it does no one pays it any mind as all three pairs of eyes are attached to the TV-screen.

''-- _and speculations are running wild as to what may have caused such a drastic decision --''_

''Honey, turn that up''

Rudy complies and with each bar of volume that rises on the screen Wally's heart beats louder. Eventually his mouth is so dry the boy can't even swallow properly.

'' _With us here is the Chief Negotiator of the GCPD'_ '

The redheaded reporter turns the microphone to a gruff looking man, dressed in the standard Gotham city police uniform, his face revealing nothing. Wally tries not to fidget but the lack of details in the broadcast has him jittery; despite knowing it won't really help he stretches on his toes as if it would give him a clearer view of the background.

'' _Sir, it's taken you quite a while to get here. Do you think you've lost too much time?''_

'' _The boy hasn't jumped yet, has he?''_

''What's going on?''

When Wally recieves no answer, he turns to look at his parents but they can't find the will to open their mouths. Mary stares at him, eyes wide and oddly reflective, as if she's trying really hard to stay composed. Rudy still looks at the TV and waves at his son to pay attention.

''Mom, what's going on?''

''Watch and you'll see'' Rudy simply says.

Wally would argue if he wasn't too scared of missing something crucial. Instead he says nothing and turns his eyes back to the TV, watching the reporter and the policeman share a strained and rigid exchange in which a lot of words are spoken but nothing is really said.

_''Our main tactic is to keep him distracted. Now, he's been quiet so far but silence can be a good thing, it means he's thinking.''_

_''Can't that thinking be bad?''_

_''Not if we're doing our jobs.''_

_''Could it simply be that he's inaudible? He is pretty far up.''_

_''We've discussed that and we're trying to get a hold of Mr. Wayne as of this moment, maybe reach the boy through his phone or_ \--''

''No.''

Wally shakes his head, slowly at first, but the more he watches the scene unravel the more force, more desperation and denial, is put into his movements. His mother simply draws a shaky breath and watches the report in honest lamentation.

''It's such a shame... He's just so -- so young.''

''No, no, no.''

Wally can’t breathe, can’t think straight with the wrenching, ice cold pain in his stomach.

''Oh, honey'' Mary gets up from the couch and makes a movement to embrace him, but Wally just pushes her brutally out of the way. ''I know it's tragic, but you can't save everyone, sweetie''

''No, no, no nononoonononononno --''

''Honey, it's going to be okay'' his mother tries, but he refuses to listen.

Refuses to hear any of her empty words because she doesn't have the faintest idea of anything, doesn't even know what's behind this and how could she ever have any inkling of how it's going to end? She's not allowed to tell him it's going to be alright, because nothing is alright and she doesn't know.

'' _This has been Vicki Vale, reporting live from 29th and Martha's Boulevard where the tragic tale of Richard Grayson is waiting to unravel --_ ''

Wally looks at her for the brief second it takes to make his mind up. Something about the way her face shrivels into itself tells him that she knows what's about to happen. The very same part of her that knows it's useless to try to stop him, but tries, anyhow.

''Wally, you won't make it there in time''

''Watch me.''

''Please, don't do anything stupi --''

But her son is already out the door.

 

* * *

 

 

  
''You might survive this fall, you know.''

''No, I won't.''

''Well, miracles happen. You might, and then you'd be crippled.''

Dick closes his eyes as he feels the rage swell inside him.

''Don't try to scare me, Roy. I know how these things go. Hell, this is Bat Psychology 101.''

The archer doesn't respond at first. Weighs his words over and tries to think of something different, something that Dick won't see right through because the last thing he needs right now is to upset him.

''Fine, okay, let's say you jump.''

''Let's.''

Roy swallows and hopes his voice sounds better than it feels as it scrapes against his throat.

''What then? Huh? What happens?''

Dick rolls his eyes.

''What do you _mean_ what happens? I'll be dead, that's what happens''

''Yes, you will. And then what?''

The boy gives him a thin but uncertain glare as he doesn't quite understand the question. Roy hopes the confusion is a good thing, a distraction, if he's lucky. As he talks, he takes the tiniest, quietest step closer.

''You'll be dead'' Roy says ''And everyone you leave behind will have hell to go through. Do you want that? Huh? Is that what you think Alfred and Bruce deserve? Me? Wally? The _team_? Are you really that big of a selfish ass?''

''Oh, hey, great, now I'm a selfish ass. Really convincing, Red!''

''Yeah, you are selfish because this is selfish and you know it is! This isn't heroic, nor justified. It's understandable but it's not -- it's not right, Dick.''

''You can guilt trip me all you want Roy, but I'm not gonna fall for it.''

Roy is much closer now, but still not close enough; he dares himself a little bigger step than previously, allows the panic to take over and it's that stupid mistake that has Dick snap out of the confusion and catch on. He slips one foot and that very second Roy thinks he feels his heart stop. Freeze like a lump in his chest as the boy hangs on with just his foot and that one, brittle little clasp of his hands that any second now could falter. Dick gives him a look filled with no remorse, no mercy or care. Just pure, scorching, scathing anger and futility as a loud chorus of horror rises from below.

''Dick, what the hell --''

''Oh, gee.'' The younger boy says with a voice devoid of all emotion. ''I slipped.''

''This isn't fucking funny --''

''No, it's not, Roy. It's serious. I'm _serious_ and don't try to manipulate me because you and I both know I'm a lot better at it than you are.''

Roy wants to scream at him. Wants to punch that look off his face and throw him head first into a window, tie him up and bring him home but he doesn't. Instead he takes a deep breath, clenches his fists and backs away. The further away he gets the more Dick seems to relax. His foot is still hanging precariously in the nothingness of the air, as a little reminder that this is going to be on his terms, that any second now he can let go. He has the power, he has the control and the second Roy forgets that, it's over.

''Just... please.''

''Go away.''

''Dick, please, I'm -- '' Roy doesn't know what to say. What to do. He knows what he wants to do, but nothing that won't end this mess in blood. ''Don't do this.''

The air is colder up here, harsher and stronger in a way that worries him even more; the slippery moisture on the buildings which proves to be a hazard in and of itself. Along with the wailing of the sirens everything just blends into a swirling vortex of dread until the archer can't tell up from down; can't take it anymore. It needs to stop.

''Are you going to give me the 'you have so much to live for' speech? Going to tell me it'll be fine? That I'll be alright and every cloud has a silver lining? That kind of thing?''

''No.''

''It's always darkest before the dawn and if I stick through it, the sun will rise for me? Is that what you want to say? Because it won't matter.''

''No, that's not what I want to say at all. And I know it won't.''

''Then go away. We're done here.''

''I'm not going anywh --''

''Go now or I swear to God, Roy, I'll let go!''

The archer knows he's right. Despite how much he wants him to be wrong, the boy has a point. If he steps closer, Dick could let go. If he reaches for his bow, or calls for back up, or even says the wrong thing, all it could lead to is disaster. But he can't just leave him there. Not like this.

''Fine.'' Roy says, but he's not surrendering.

Not now, not ever. Dick hears it in his voice, sees it on his face and it strengthens in himself his own determination to finish this. Just as soon as everyone stops distracting him. How is he supposed to think when there are so many sounds around him? The screams in his head are only growing louder; screams of everyone he never saved, of everyone he let down and failed and disappointed and his own scream is in there, somewhere in all that mess and Dick is just so tired of the noise.

''Fine. I'll go. But I'll be back.''

''Sure you will.''

He just wants it to be quiet.

''This isn't over, Dick.''

''Whatever.''

Roy gives him one look before he gingerly grabs his bow, slowly as to not frighten the other and aims at the closest building. He keeps his eyes on him for a little while longer before he forces himself off and away. Despite every instinct in him screaming not to, that he's going the wrong way, doing the wrong thing and he should just get back there and do something useful for a change. He pushes those thoughts away, knows he needs logic, needs a plan, for this not to go down in flames.

As he leaps off with what feels like a million questions in his head, there is one that seems to be the most pressing one of all.

Where the hell is Batman?

 

 

* * *

 

  
The terrain is rough this far out, a bit more so than one got to see in the brochures and infomercials. Even so, it was nothing the Batmobile couldn't handle and even the Joker's own vehicle seems customized to deal with it. Large tracks are dented into the ground, pushed deeply into the dry soil as shrubs and rocks are ripped out of place, swirling around in the dust that settled behind them.

Joker's means of transportation - an awfully decorated vehicle, purple, green and white with a huge, grinning mouth at its end that seems to be there solely for the purpose of taunting him - is fast and the dust it whips up would have sufficed to cloak them, hadn't the Batmobile had its thermal search system. Batman can see them clear as day; a bright, vibrating spot of heat that maneuvers with no consideration, no care for its passengers or whatever poor living thing that has the bad luck to cross their path. If he doesn't catch them soon, they are surely going to kill something, be it themselves or some straying little toad.

He casts a quick glance at the map displayed on the dashboard screen, settles into the seat more comfortably before he presses the pedal firmly into the mat.  
The Batmobile hums contently at first, like a slow, gentle purr, before she breaks out into a ferocious howl, pushing forwards at a near spine-crumbling speed. Joker hears it long before he sees it in the rearview mirror; for all its imposing exterior and unsettling sound he can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the sight.

''Step on it, Harley!'' The laugh mixes with the the sand as he inhales it. Deeply into his lungs until he's half-coughing, half-giggling, not sure if the tears in his eyes are because of the amusement or the dirt. ''Looks like Bats wants to play a little game of tag!''

Batman speeds up, as if it were somehow possible to go any faster without breaking the soundbarrier; and despite Harley's best efforts the black and red blur of a monster has soon swerved around them, stopped with the snap of a finger in their path.

''Hold on to your toches, puddin'!'' She shrieks as she wildly steps on the brakes.

Before Joker has time to be thrown fully forwards and have his jaw connect with the dashboard, she's already shifted gears and turned around. By the time they're speeding away the Joker doesn't know what's up or down or front; but then again, he supposes he never really does.

The Batmobile is much quicker, much smoother in its turns and before they have time to get very far it has already cut them off again; circled them like a lion around its prey. Harley stops the car for a brief moment of consideration, pursing her lips as she eyes the area.

''Harl'' Joker sticks his head up when it feels safe to do so. ''Why have we stopp --''

''Brace yourself, mistah J!''

He eyes her skeptically, but doesn't have much time to speak as she has put the car in reverse. When Joker figures out that they've backed, they are already heading forward at a suffocating velocity.

''Weeeee!'' Harley chortles, arms in the air as the vehicle, using the hood of the Batmobile as a ramp, leaps into the air like a huge chunk of meteor.

A laugh bubbles in his throat as he grips the seat; ripped out of him much like the air in his lungs as the wind howls past them with the finesse of a blade. It is the most unbelievable feeling of joy that fills his body before they land.  
The landing itself isn't very smooth and he's sure he's heard something snap somewhere inside -- might not have been his neck, but who knows -- and as Harley drives forth he can't stop himself from cackling.

''Next stop'' Harley squeals ''Freedom with a capital F!''

''You people are mad!''

The third voice brings their attention to the backseat, where Picasso is curled into a slightly contorted mess of limbs. With a tiny shudder of delight Joker wonders if maybe something is broken.

''Big words from the guy in the strait-jacket, doncha think?''

''I'll have you skinned!'' Picasso's voice is strange, loud, almost. And it's a special kind of spectacular because it's the first time Joker has ever heard him yell. ''Let me off before you get us killed!''

''Tsk, tsk'' Joker wags a finger at him. ''Don't blame me. You brought this on yourself. I mean, I like you, Picasso, I really do.'' He puts a hand to his chest and pouts his mouth in mock sadness. ''Honest! But you just can't play with my stuff like that without asking. Just isn't right. As a matter of fact, it's rude.''

''Very rude!'' Harley pipes in.

''I suppose I can't blame you, you're new to this town, it takes a while to learn...''

Then he leans in and the horror that shifts within the Artist's eyes is a hundred kinds of delicious.

''See this as your first lesson, Picasso, dear, in why you never, ever play with the Joker's toys.''

''Uhm, mistah J'' Harley taps him lightly on the shoulder and it is with an irritated snarl he turns to her.

''What, Harley? Can't you see I'm bus -- oh, isn't he persistent?''

The woman can only nod as they watch the dark shadow of the Batmobile approach steadily. As the Joker's car seems to be driving erratically, like they broke something in their bold jump earlier, Batman sees it as his chance.

The man in the cowl barely stops himself from looking over to the passenger seat, but it's always close. Too close, on so many occasions. He forgets, momentarily, that it's empty and that this is a mission he has to do on his own. He grits his teeth, takes a deep breath and plunges forward.

It happens quickly, almost smoothly. One second the Batmobile is behind them, the next second the very world tilts.

Every sound of the humming engine dies and the rumbling of the ground beneath them turns into the screeching of wheels as the vehicle suddenly jerks to a halt. The sheer power of the impact is enough to throw them off balance and the three passengers are hurled out of the vehicle like ragdolls.  
Batman hears the Joker laugh and is quick to get out of the Batmobile as he lets wide steps carry him towards them.

''Joker!'' he roars, but the man can't stop laughing.

''Tag, I'm it!'' He claps his hands, unaware or perhaps uncaring of the blood that drips steadily out of his broken nose. ''I knew you'd be good at this!''

The giant club that is swung at him is as discreet as a trumpet's flare, and Batman ducks it easily before sending Harley to the ground with a swift kick to her center. All the while Joker keeps laughing, clutching his stomach in unrestrained, unrivaled glee. He can't tell if the pain is from the impact or the joy alone.

''Batsie! Don't be like that!''

''No more games, Joker. You're going back to Arkham.''

''Awww'' he frowns. ''But I quite enjoyed playing with you.''

Batman ignores him, instead turns to glare at Harley who is still collecting herself on the ground, swearing at him through the gasps.

''You too, Quinn.''

''Batsie, come on!'' the Joker gets to shaking feet, topples over at first, but eventually drags himself up. ''You can't interrupt us! We have a play date. I trust you to know our new pal, hm?''

He grabs a hold of Picasso's collar -- only half-conscious, the silly goose -- and shakes his groaning head back and forth. It's not by much but the tiny clench of his fists, the slightest hardening to Batman's face, is enough for the Joker to pick up on. And it only makes his grin wider.

''Yes, of course you know him. He's the awful, awful man who tortured your winged little pal.''

''Let him go, Joker.''

The Joker sighs loudly, rolls his eyes in a slight sign of disappointment.

''Now, now, Batsie. That's no fun at all.''

''I mean it, Joker. He should be in Arkham where he belongs, and so should you.''

A darkness slithers into the grinning man's eyes, a darkness so heavy, so thick it reminds him only of death. Reminds him of all those dark nights when the Joker made his life a living hell, of the true filth that resides behind the laughs and the jokes and the mouth-splitting smiles.

It's the same filth that Batman has felt inside his own chest whenever the ornithologist came to mind. It brings with the thirst for revenge, for vindication, and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Batman knows that's not how justice works; it's how the world works but that is also the world he has sworn to change. To protect and to better. The court has deemed them unfit for society, put them in Arkham for rehabilitation, and as much as Batman doubts that such minds can ever be saved, can ever be cleansed, it is where they belong. And he will not surrender to his own fury, to his own animalistic wants, not for anything because he knows. Deep down, he always remains faithful of one thing; that one can never wash blood with blood.

No matter how much one wants to.

''Do you know what he did, Batsiebats?'' the Joker shakes Picasso a little more, drawing a groan from the other man. ''Do you know of all the gruesome, nasty, wonderful things he did to my little bird? Do you?'' Joker tilts his head back just enough for his eyes to seem larger, like huge, black orbs that glisten with parasitic malice. ''Because I know. He told me, you see. Told me every little detail.''

''Joker, that's enough''

''Told me how he screamed, gibberish mostly but oh, how he screamed Batman ---''

''Enough.''

''And cried'' the Joker nods. ''But he did it all to protect you. To protect your fancy friends in your tight little shorts. All for you. Isn't that just heartbreaking, Batman? How he suffered because of his undying devotion to you. Because of you, he bled like a teenage girl on her -- ''

''That’s _enough_ , Joker!''

The punch is brutal and raw, almost enough to unhinge his jaw as it sends him to the ground again. It takes a while for the ringing in his ears to stop, and as he struggles up on his elbows, the snicker that crawls through his mouth makes something click in his bones. The look on Batman's face -- as much as one can see with the cowl -- is priceless. The Ornithologist moans on the ground, squirms as he's coming to his senses, and Joker just smiles as they both glance towards him.

''You know he deserves it, Batman. You and I both know very well that monsters like him don't change. He won't reform and turn into a model citizen. It just ain't like that in this topsy turvy world'' He laughs. ''I of all people should know!''

Batman kicks him in the chest, pushes him back down and though he makes no new attempts to get up, he still laughs.

''Tell him, Picasso'' he snickers. ''Tell him how it felt. Tell him how soft he was --''

'' _I said enough!_ ''

He drags him up, punches him again, again and again as the rage fills every muscle of his body, twitches through his flesh like a boundless force. This isn't the Joker's fault, isn't Harley's or the Riddler's, it's the monster's. The Ornithologist's, but, more than that, it's his. He knows he should have been more, stopped this from happening, stopped this from launching his ward, his partner, into a downward spiral; out of control but he didn't. He wasn't there. Didn't stop it and this entire mess is on his shoulders. He can't change the past.

''You need me, Batman, need me to do what you want to do but can't. You're glad I'm here, secretly, part of you wants me to get away. Part of you wants me to do what your silly moral code won't allow you to.''

''I want you and him back in Arkham with the rest of the scum, as you deserve.''

The Joker shakes his head with a little snort.

''B, I know you. After all these years, don't you think I can't tell? Don't you think I don't smell the bloodlust on you?'' Batman clenches his fists to keep himself from lashing out again, to keep him from breaking that face and the grin into a million little pieces. ''It's nothing to be ashamed of.''

''I am nothing like you.''

The Joker laughs through the blood, through the broken pieces of teeth that dangle by their roots, bleed into his throat and he coughs it up, laughs again until bubbles of the red form in his mouth.

Harley, who until mere moments ago has been so busy collecting her breath, lying still in the mind-numbing pain that has churned in her gut, has during the commotion managed to crawl just the tiniest bit away. When Batman finally does catch on the hammer is already at his skull. The whole world turns into a mess of white and despite his struggle, his body refuses to fight against the pain. It morphs, instead, into nausea. A nausea that takes over his body and denies him the ability to move.

He knows he doesn't have time to let them slip away, doesn't have the time to be suffering but the next thing he knows the Joker is laughing again and their monstrous engine has sparked to life.

''Bye, bye, Batise!''

''J-joker '' he tries, but getting to his feet is too much, takes too long. When he manages to stand up again, their vehicle is already driving away.

''I'll take care of Picasso, doncha worry! I'll give him some extra punches from you!''

''Joker!''

He wobbles forth, stumbles towards the Batmobile, the headlights a warm, bright guiding light in the blurred darkness of his eyes. Probably a concussion, but he can't lose focus now. Can't let them get away, can't let them escape like this. He slithers into the driver's seat, almost melts into the leather and takes a deep breath to clear his head. But the pain is only worsening.

'' _Sir_ '' Alfred's voice carries through the haze.

''Alfred''

'' _I understand that you are busy, sir, but something has happened that requires your immediate attention._ ''

''It will have to wait, the Joker -- ''

'' _I'm sorry, sir, but this is much more important._ ''

There is a coldness in his gut that refuses to relinquish, a feeling of dread that spreads through his veins with the speed of fire. He recognizes that voice, the one that Alfred only uses when it's of the most importance. Before the butler even speaks, his mind already knows what's to come.

'' _It's Richard._ ''

Batman watches the dust from the Joker's vehicle settle, sees their heat signal grow fainter and fainter on the dash and knows that he has to make a decision.

''I'll be right there.''


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> suicide tw

''Come on, Nygma. Get up.'' **  
  
** The foot jabs him harshly but not all too forcefully in the chest. The Riddler only groans in response as the blood is still thick in his mouth, preventing him from speaking as he'd rather not gag on his own fluids. Two-Face merely sighs, rolls his eyes and lifts the lankier man up to rest on his shoulder, like a particularly ugly coat.  
  
''I have to do everything around here, don't I?''  
  
Riddler coughs up a lump of partially coagulated blood and saliva and they both watch it in morbid fascination as it splashes against the dirty floor.  
  
''Jeesh, you're a charmer.''  
  
''What're you even --'' he coughs again, feels the grains scrape against his lungs, drying his throat to a point where his saliva accumulates into big, runny pools inside his cheeks. It hurts too much to swallow and he's too tired to spit it out, so he just lets it slowly run out of his mouth and pretends not to notice the disgusted looks he receives. ''Why're you here? Where's Batman?''  
  
''Took me out for a good minute, tied me to a damn heater.''  
  
Riddler blinks to get his vision to clear. Everything just hurts for some strange reason.   
  
''How did you..?''  
  
''Chewed my arm off.''  
  
Nygma gives him a wide eyed stare.  
  
''No, you idiot!’’ Two-Face snarls. ‘’Dislocated a shoulder, snapped it back again. What happened  _here_?''  
  
Riddler bobs his head. His muscles are slack in his body and he's not really walking as much as he's tripping forth across the floor; Harvey's tall frame being the only thing to keep him from falling over. After a few minutes when his left eye has returned most of its focus and his right one remains a dark nothing, Riddler suspects that one eye has swollen shut.  
  
''My guess is I got a good beating. Joker...'' then he gasps as the memories snap back into his mind like a rubber band. ''That minx! They all got away!''  
  
''Figured as much, what, with the tracks and lack of inmates and all.''  
  
Riddler stops him, smacking his palm quickly against Harvey’s chest as if he could pound the information into him.  
  
''No, no!'' he coughs. ''They took the Ornithologist! Joker and our target are  _gone_!''  
  
''If Batman got them they'd be here. I've taken a look around and the only thing still here is our car.''  
  
The smaller man groans, mostly out of frustration but a little bit of pain slips in there as well. Two-Face starts dragging him again.  
  
''We'll  _never_  find them before he kills the bastard!''  
  
''Relax, Riddler. Your head is all messed up -- more than usual, at least'' He smirks at the glare being shot at him. ''Just call the cat and we'll think'a something.''  
  
Nygma raises the one useable brow he has, regards the scarred face that is, unfortunately, the one turned towards him, before he realizes something.  
  
''Hey, you came back for me!'' An aching hand is brought to his chest in a mock gesture. ''I'm touched!''  
  
''Hold your kisses, Nygma. Ya got the keys, that's all.''  
  
''You could've stolen them from me. Or hi-jacked the car.''  
  
''I tried'' he grunts. ''But the stupid car demanded I answered a riddle before it would even let me touch as much as a seatbelt.''  
  
Riddler snorts through the pain, regrets it moments later as his entire face flares in the most obnoxious kind of ache.   
  
''Let's hope Ms. Kyle does better than the two of us'' he says and reaches for his cane, only to realize it's not by his side.   
  
He's just about to panic when Harvey, noticing his distressed movements, holds the cane up in his own free hand. 

''Car first.'' Harvey says. ''Cat later. I need you conscious until we get out of here, instead of passing out because ya can't handle thinking and breathing all at the same time.''  
  
Nygma snorts, but supposes he has a point. He is feeling rather drained, and as much as he tries the pull of unconsciousness keeps caressing the corners of his mind. Harvey himself isn't looking too well, less than usual, anyway. The tiny limp to his gait could be because of Riddler's added weight, he can't really say, but the caked trail of dark crimson down his chin makes the Riddler suspect they both got a good beating.   
  
Just one of these days he'd prefer it if Batman could maybe not start every encounter with his fists.  
  
''You know'' he says. ''It was a rather marvelous plan''   
  
''Too bad it didn't work.''  
  
He smiles despite the way it makes his lip tear.  
  
''Yeah. Maybe next time, though.''  
  
Harvey doesn't even bother to answer.  


 

* * *

 

  
  
  
''And here he is, the man of the hour!''   
  
Vicki Vale glares at the other reporters, at their desperate clawing, like hyenas with a piece of meat dangled in front of them. She sees the limousine pull up next to the curb, sees the swarm of journalists and cops trying to chase them off. It's taken about a half hour for Bruce Wayne to arrive and people were starting to speculate.   
  
The negotiations team is irritated at all the commotion; celebrity jumpers aren't all that common, mostly they die silently in hotel bathrooms, but not this kid. It takes all their effort to keep his attention on them, to keep him distracted, too distracted to do anything drastic, while the police has more than just a handful of keeping civilians and reporters on their end of the tape. 

As well as dealing with the agitated archer waltzing around yelling at them, things are getting out of hand. Bullock is close to an aneurysm and wonders why he had to, on this of all days, do the right thing.  
  
The air is static, almost having a life of its own, with the many emotions swimming through it. Despite the cold temperature of the night and the briskness of the wind it's all lost in the warm buzzing of movement and excitement. Inside it all there is also quite a bit of dread, perhaps fear, and as Bruce Wayne steps out of his limousine it only gets louder.  
  
''People, people!'' Bullock pushes at some particularly stubborn reporters. ''Leave the man some space, will ya? Jeez!''  
  
Bullock orders the other officers to get vicious if they have to and pushes himself closer to Bruce Wayne, figures he's best to deal with it considering the circumstances. The others can barely even deal with the regular people as it is.   
  
''Mr. Wayne --''  
  
''Where is he?''  
  
The smooth face of the billionaire is blank. Without its usual boyish charm and killer smile, that twinkle in his eyes, the man looks older somehow. More haunted. Bullock knows enough not to push his luck and simply leads him as close to the police tape as he is allowed to bring him, then nods towards the building. Mr. Wayne's eyes follow the gesture all the way up and when he sees the small form clinging to the building, so close to falling, something changes with his voice.  
  
''How long has he been there?''  
  
''I'd say for at least a half hour, or so. Maybe forty-five minutes. We're hoping we can talk him out of it, but yanno, negotitaions ain't havin' the best of luck. We're not sure if it's that he's ignoring us or that he just can't hear us.''  
  
Wayne says nothing as he takes out his cellphone and Bullock suddenly notices the butler is standing next to them. The old man gives him a flat look, making him much too unsettled to ask how long he's been there.   
  
Bruce Wayne holds the phone tightly to his ear, his jaw clenched and aching, his entire body language stiff, but the rest of his person remains collected. Meanwhile bright flashes of cameras seem to almost explode around them, yet remain invisible to his eyes. Maybe he's just ignoring them, maybe he simply doesn't notice the words of the reporters or the accusatory whispers from the civilians. Whichever the case, Bullock feels queasy about it. Parents simply shouldn't be this collected in these types of situations - no matter if bound by blood or ink.

''Ya sure he'll pick up?'' Bullock scratches at his neck, glancing up at the boy who doesn't seem to be moving. ''Even if he wants to, I d'no if he  _could_. Gotta be cramping up there. Why would he even bring it..?''  
  
''Because I always tell him to bring it with him wherever he goes.''  
  
''And the kid listens to ya? Man, ya got some parenting skills there, I'll give ya that.''  
  
The signal keeps going and no sound of a ringtone is heard. Bruce bites down the bile as he realizes, slowly, that the phone isn't with him. That he's not going to reach him, and even as the tone goes to voice mail, all Bruce does is keep it to his ear and wait.  
  
''Master Bruce, I do not think he will answer.''  
  
Bruce hangs up, dials again, listens. As it goes to voice mail again, again and again, little by little he falters. Alfred lets it go on for about two more minutes, trying to keep his own emotions composed, before he gently pries the phone away from him.  
  
''Master Bruce, he is not going to pick up. I'm sorry.''  
  
''Dick?'' Bruce calls out, as loud as he can and hopes the boy will hear him up there. ''Dick, it's fine, I'm not angry with you. Just... just come down and we can talk about it, okay?''  
  
Just for a moment, Bruce wishes he could see his face.  
  
''I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne, but procedure says it's best for the negotiators to do the talking.'' One of the negotiators has, somehow, appeared by his side. ''As much as you want to help, in our experience, when family tries to negotiate it only makes it worse.''   
  
''But he's  _my_  -- ''  
  
''I know, Mr. Wayne'' He gestures with his hand. ''I understand you must be distressed and worried, but please, for all your well meaning, it is best to leave the talking to the professionals. I mean you no offense but sir, please, trust us. We've done this before.''  
  
Bruce closes his eyes and wills back the anger, the need to control the situation, and looks at the man with the most crushing look the officer has ever felt.  
  
''Bring him back down alive.''  
  
The negotiator swallows down the lump in his throat but it only grows bigger.  
  
''Sir, I assure you, we are doing all we can --''  
  
''You'll have to do  _more_ , because what I see is that he's still up there.''  
  
''With all due respect, Mr. Wayne'' The officer looks almost insulted. ''As long as he's up there, it's a hell of a lot better than the alternative. We are  _doing_  everything we can, but you have to trust us. We have training, we have experience. Now, step back and let us do our job!''  
  
The man knows his tone is not the kindest, but he's tired of dealing with relatives. It never gets easier. He's tired of having his job demeaned, of never being trusted. Though he can understand them, because he has seen the fear rip through people as they watch their loved ones threaten to end their lives, it doesn't make it any more pleasant to deal with.   
  
''Sir, I believe the gentleman has a point. We will do less harm over here, don't you agree?''  
  
Bruce looks like he's about to argue when Alfred starts to gently lead him away.  
  
''Alfred, I shouldn't be here in this damn suit, I should be -- ''  
  
''Sir'' Alfred leans in to whisper in his ear, watchful of the people around them. ''I understand that you feel like this is the wrong outfit for the occasion, but right now, Richard needs Bruce Wayne more than he needs the crusader. Think of how it would look if you don't show up to support your own ward -- ''  
  
''I don't  _care_  how it looks -- ''  
  
Alfred glares at him and it's enough to quiet the billionaire down.  
  
''I know you don't care but you have to listen to me. With all due respect sir, you are not thinking clearly right now.''  
  
Bruce sighs, clenches and unclenches his fists as he repeats a calming mantra in his head. It's not helping but it is distracting.  
  
''I have spoken to Red Arrow and help  _is_  on its way. Now, you just do your part as a father.''  
  
Bruce eyes him skeptically, wonders what sort of plan he could possibly have for this but trusts him, nonetheless. Alfred has already pulled through for him in the past, whenever it has mattered most, and he allows himself to believe this time won't be any different.  
  
''You are not alone in this, master Bruce. Remember that.''

 

 

* * *

 

 

He's never run this fast before.  
  
It was kind of stupid, when he thinks about it, to leave the house in such a hurry. Didn't even have time to put on the good shoes. These weak sneakers have about a mile left, he reckons, if even that. It's a wonder his clothes haven't caught on fire yet. Not that he has time to think about it. Can't think of anything for fear that the emotions will consume him.  
  
Eat him, like ants. Piranhas, maybe. Scraping him clean until there is only white, glistening bone.  
  
So Wally doesn't think. Just runs. Hopes there is still time.  
  
Even at this speed, he knows there is little less than two hours left. One hour and forty minutes, maybe, if he really pushes it. Can't push too much, though. Can't get very far with a torn muscle, or broken ligaments. His feet are aching, warm with pain and the wind blurs his eyes with tears, but he doesn't care about it. Nor the way his skin has lost all feeling from the cold. Just breathes. And runs.  
  
At least he got his communicator with him. Stuck in his ear for each day. He used to forget it most of the time, but not now. Not since Robin came home and his very life could depend on it. Depend on Wally being fast enough. Wally swore to himself that if something happened he wouldn't be late this time. He'd never be late again.  
  
''Can anyone hear me?''  
  
The comlink is silent, or maybe he's just being impatient. He can't really tell how long he waits. Could be seconds, nanoseconds, but it feels like hours.  
  
''Hello? Rob? Rob, are you there? Rob, if you are, please,  _please_  answer! Hello?! SB? Artemis? Is anyone --''  
  
'' _I'm here_ ''   
  
It fills him with an enormous sense of relief to hear Roy's voice. Roy always seemed like the guy who knew what he was doing. He had to, didn't he? Being older and wiser and all that jazz. Wally really hopes that he does.  
  
''Dude, you've gotta -- you've gotta call Superman or --  _anyone_ , you've gotta get to Gotham, Roy, it's -- ''  
  
_''I know. I'm already here. Where are you?_ ''  
  
He's too distressed to register the words completely, or even fully understand much of their inherent meaning. Tries to breathe, long, deep, ragged breaths as he dares a glance around him.  
  
''I don't know, all I see is trees!''  
  
_''Did you see the news?_ ''  
  
Wally swallows and tries to calm down but his heart won't stop pounding just like his voice won't stop shaking.  
  
''Yeah, I - I saw. What's happening, Red?''  
  
_''Not much. Cops are trying to talk him out of it. Not going to work, though. I tried and he's... he's resolute, I can tell that much.''_  
  
Bright spots start to flash before his eyes and his brain feels as though it's liquefying. He's getting tired but can't give up now. Not yet.  
  
''What -- what do you  _mean_  he's -- Roy, what's -- he's not really going to..?''  
  
_''Not if I have a say in it.''_  
  
Wally makes a tiny laugh but doesn't feel even remotely close to happy. Just laughs because it's all he can think of doing, because the insanity of this day is just too much.  
  
''What are you talking about?! Why isn't Batman or Superman --''  
  
''Think of how it would look if the Man of Steel himself just ignored his duties because Gotham's golden boy decided to off himself.''  
  
_''Du_ de!'' Wally falls on his breath, stumbles on the asphalt but regains his balance at the last moment.   
  
_''Superman has no jurisdiction here, and over a celebrity suicide and a tsunami I think we all know which one he has to go for.''_  
  
''Well, Wonder Woman, god damn Green Lantern, hell, the team! Just --'' 

 _''Off world, super villain threats, it doesn't_ matter _, Wally. Don't you think I've contacted everyone? Fact is, even if they weren't tied up, there is no way they'll make it on time. Besides, we need to be discreet about this.''_  
  
''Discreet?! Are you insane?! How can you even think about -- Wait, why are you in Gotham?''  
  
_''Same reason you're running here now at 700 miles an hour.''_  
  
He sighs.  
  
''Point.''  
  
_''Don't worry, we'll handle it.''_  
  
''We?''  
  
_''Try to focus on your feet, I'll deal with this.''_  
  
''But, no, I can still make it --  _Roy_!''  
  
But the line has already been disconnected and left is only a gentle buzzing in his ear. Wally takes a deep breath, tries not to get too worked up about the thousand possibilities. Tries not to imagine the worst case scenarios and what ifs and simply takes Roy's advice, focuses his energy and runs.   
  
He can feel the shoes being torn off bit by bit and the cold asphalt against his feet, feels the stinging as it scrapes against his skin but he doesn't care. His body is durable and his will is strong. He will make it there on time.   
  
Even if he has to crawl the last hundred miles to get there.  
  


* * *

 

  
  
  
The way Bullock keeps shouting at people he could almost pass for the ring master. The simile doesn't help a lot, but a little, and a little is all Dick knows he can really hope for.   
  
He has had to readjust his grip once or twice, shifted his weight to keep his limbs from falling asleep. Despite this he knows he won't be able to hold on for much longer; he's weak with hunger, tired too, hasn't slept in days and the outer corners of his vision are tinted black. There is a dull and warm throbbing, like a burn, inside his head and Dick knows sooner or later he will fall. Either from his own will or because his fingers can't hold on any longer.  
  
He's not sure why he hasn't let go yet; maybe because they're all trying to distract him all the time. The negotiators have tried talking to him for the last fifteen minutes. Not that it matters, he's so far up he can't respond, his throat is much too dry, too tight, with the fear and the regret. With the guilt that threatens to choke him. The wind is strong, threatening to take away what little breath he has left.  
  
The same little voice in the back of his head whispers constantly to just let go, do it, just leave it all behind. It sounds almost like his mother and he takes comfort in that as it whispers to him. Tells him to leap. To fly.  
  
_''You look just like a little robin out there''_  
  
It's the jump that's important, but not the most important bit of all. It's the catch. The trust. This time Dick knows no one will be there for him; he'll be alone in this act. The final one. The death defying, gravity mocking trick extraordinaire. It takes guts, takes heart and strength but, most of all, patience.  
  
He'd practice for days and nights, hours on end to be let out on stage that first time. His mother was worried, of course, she wouldn't want anything to happen. Not like when uncle Ferka broke both his legs and couldn't perform for months. Except she feared worse than that. He couldn't just jump out there without a net, no matter how good he was it was just so hard to let him.  
  
It almost makes him want to laugh when he thinks about it. How absurdly naïve he was. All the things they tried to tell him. The lessons they tried to share but Dick never listened, he just couldn't sit still long enough.   
  
The most important part was patience.  
  
Dick didn't have it then, so he tried to have it now. Breathe in deep. Prepare, take the time the act needed to be absolutely perfect. After all, you only got one chance.  
  
_''I don't know''_  uncle Ferka said once.  _''I kind of like the idea that I might not wake up tomorrow. It brings genuiness to it, ya know?''_  
  
His mother hated it when his uncle started sharing life lessons, because he was always so unaware of how little Dick was. To him, as a boy, it all sounded like it made so much sense. Then again anything that meant he could perform out there with his family made sense to him.   
  
Dick was angry with himself, a small hatred in the back of his mind that had festered and grown for these past four years, because as time went on, Dick started to forget.

He forgot how their voices sounded. How his mother's perfume smelled. How his father's eyes narrowed in the moment of absolute concentration. Forgot, little by little, how his aunt looked. How his uncle laughed. What great grandfather Yoska used to call him.

Day by day, he forgot all about them. Everything but the pain of losing them -- of watching them fall. The only sounds he never stopped remembering was that of their bones. Of the screams, the gasps as no one could believe something like this could happen.   
  
He started forgetting everything except the things he didn't want to remember. That, and the one thing uncle Ferka said that always stuck with him, etched into his mind.   
  
'' _If this is my last trick, I need it to be perfect._ ''  
  
It always was. Just like this would be. So Dick had to be patient, had to prepare, breathe in, breathe out. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Stretch, flex, relax. Stop thinking. It's the thinking that ruins it, because you should just  _know_. It should come to you like breathing, like a reflex in your spine.  
  
If he closes his eyes he can almost hear it. The cheers. The murmurs of the crowd. The reporters and civilians, well, they sound almost like an audience. The fear could easily be mistaken for anticipation, if he concentrates enough. He can pretend, like he always does, that they're whispering about them.   
  
The Flying Graysons. Fearless. Death defying.  
  
Truly amazing.  
  
Someone shouts his name, it sounds familiar, honest, like home. But Dick doesn't want to listen anymore, has listened enough to them all, and so far nothing they told him has worked. Instead he closes his eyes and concentrates on the only decision that seems right, that feels good in all this mess.

   
It's enough, it's just enough. It has to stop, all of this. He doesn't care anymore if they film him, if they watch him plummet. Like it would matter, anyway. They'd get some sensation to write about, it would die down whenever some celebrity did something new. They would all move on and the world could forget all about him. And Dick could forget all about them.  
  
_''Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready? Are you prepared? It's the moment you've all been waiting for!''_  
  
If he listens closely, he can hear it.  
  
_''They've traveled across the country, across the world exceeded only by their reputation! Rest your eyes upon this truly marvelous feat!''_ ''  
  
The cheering of the crowd, then the absolute silence as every person in the tent holds their breath.  
  
_''The only performers in the world able to perform the quadruple somersault!_ ''  
  
If he concentrates, he can feel his father's hand on his shoulder. His mother's voice as she goes through the final preparations.  
  
_''And they'll be doing it, ladies and gents, without a net!''_  
  
Relax, deep breaths. Keep your feet together, relax your hands. Concentrate.  
  
_''The show of a lifetime! Only here, at Haaaaaly's circus!_ ''  
  
Focus on the bar, only the bar, and let everything else be swept away.  
  
_''It's the fearless --''_  
  
It's eerie how clear they seem to him now, in this moment. The blurry shapes of their features suddenly as bright and living as when they were alive.   
Here to fly with him, one last time. It seems fitting he should meet his death the same way.  
  
_''The magnificent, the spectacular --''_  
  
Dick lets out his breath and can't help but smile as he releases the grip.  
  
_''Flyyyiiiing Graaaaysons!''_  
  
He flies.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘’We have just recieved word that there has been a break-out at Arkham Asylum'' Vicki taps at her ear-piece, staring into the depth of the camera lens. ''Perhaps that answers the question as to whatever became of the caped crusader, but what it  _doesn't_ answer is where his colorful sidekick has been hiding these past months.''  
  
The people shove around her, try to get closer with their cameras, try to get something out of Bruce Wayne as he stands gingerly to the side. He is composed, as is expected, but the strong grip his butler has on his arm leads them to believe there is a lot more moving inside him. It is almost inhuman how he refrains from acting, in some way, out of the deeply seated instinct most parents eventually succumb to.   
  
''We only hope that at least one of them will spare some time to end this horrible evening without any bloodshed''  
  
Vicki hasn't yet tried to climb the horde of journalists to get to him, mostly because she's in her good heels and there is already one photographer with a black eye, and because the larger officer closest to the playboy seems extremely belligerent. It's also because one look at the billionaire's face has something inside her falter. So she keeps to her side, the cameraman focusing partially on her, partially on the building, and hopes that the night is close to an end.  
  
''Mr. Wayne has arrived on the scene and the police is having a hard job keeping the press away from him, as well as the civilians. Things are getting ugly down here, and fast. Even if Batman is too busy to attend, let's pray that at least someone -- keep the camera straight!''  
  
She glares at her colleague, whose grip on the camera has faltered and the lens is now pointed awkwardly at her knees. When he doesn't respond, merely looks with wide eyes upwards, she is urged to do the same.  
  
''What's he doing?'' The cameraman mumbles. Though Vicki tries, she can't quite find the words to answer him. ''Is he... bowing?''  
  
''Oh, god.''  
  
There is little else but silence in the next few seconds. Vicki had never liked it when people said that time stopped for them; not only because the journalist in her found it terribly cliché, but because it was such a naïve thing to say.  
It's not time that stops, just your perception of it. With your veins clogged full of adrenaline, your heart thrashing inside your ribs as if trying to break straight through the bone, your mind speeds up. It's your movements that slow down.   
  
That very moment, though, it's all she can think of to describe it . Time stops.  
  
Everything stops as the small form of the boy -- high up on the ledge, far above the ground and every squirming, screaming person on it -- lets go of the lintel and stretches out his arms. Like he's preparing for something, a show, maybe. She can't get a good enough look of his features, and it's only barely that she registers the rise of the camera in her peripheral. Flashes of cameras, breaths held, pencils ready, phone conversations halted, waiting for the grand finale.  
  
It brings to mind the feeling of when she was at the circus, all those years ago. The great, thick electric current that flashed through their collective bodies. The somber yet respectful silence as if they were all waiting for something out of this world to happen. Breaths held just in case, just in case an exhale too sharp would ruin something. Every thought on pause as if they'd jinx it if the wrong word crossed their minds.  
  
There is the dull thumping of blood through veins tight with fear; like a tiny drum inside her head and it is the only thing audible to her ears. Maybe the people around her are no longer speaking, or maybe she just can't hear them anymore.   
  
She can't see Bruce Wayne or his facial expression and for that inability, she's glad. Because when the moment finally arrives it's like something deep inside her, something very human, falls to pieces.  
  
Just like that, he lets go.

Jumps, out in the air. No one knows what to make of it and the screams get caught in their throats as he curls his body into a somersault. Then another and another and yet another more, until the quadruple somersault act has been performed. Beautiful, magnificent, impossibly inhuman but still so very real. The most marvelous thing she ever saw. The last living member of the one family that could perform it, softly moves out of it, floats through the air as if attached to strings and for the briefest of seconds Vicki breathes. Dares to imagine a safety net is waiting somewhere.  
  
The loud scream that finally rips her back into reality reminds her that no. There is no net. There was never any net and this is not an act.   
It is the last performance of a thirteen year old boy she never really knew, and even if she never intended to, now also never will.  
  
He falls. Fast. Too fast, faster as if the moment just sped up from its freeze in time and it all happens so quickly.  
  
Cameras flash and people yell, words she can't quite understand or decipher and before it has a chance to go any further, just as she's about to close her eyes and scream - join this macabre cacophony of wailing - a shadow emerges from the sky.  
  
''It's -- it's  _him!_ '' someone, she's not sure who, yells, and points at the sky.  
  
Vicki loses all strength in her knees and falls against someone; knocking over an entire row of reporters like a fleshy set of dominoes.  
  
''Ms. Vale!''  
  
''Keep your god damn camera on him, or I'll have you fired!''  
  
Her voice is shrill, her heart fighting for room with her breath, effectively strangling her. The cameraman only looks at her in fright before he grabs the camera and makes sure never to let go as the red and black little blur swings through the air.  
  
''Oh, my god''  
  
It feels strange, because the laugh isn't there. Though she knows she shouldn't demand more than what has already been given, she can't fight the hollowness that it leaves behind.   
  
But it's gratitude that should be felt, regardless of the silence. In fact, the silence could be just a splatter of bone and blood and horror. Cries. But it's not. Because the boy wonder grabs the tiny form of Richard Grayson, like a little cloth trapped in a whirlwind, before the two forms disappear onto a rooftop.   
  
It takes only seconds before the reporters are kicking and punching each other, climbing heads to get to the building the fastest. The cops have a hard enough time catching up, and she remains wise enough to stay behind. It would not do well to be trampled.  
  
''He caught him! He caught him!''  
  
''People, what the hell is wrong with you?! You're going to kill someone -- Hey!''  
  
She watches them silently, as there are no words that come to mind in the moment. Watches them fight each other and the futility of the police's movements, but movements that need to be performed just the same. Not until many moments later, when she finally dares to move, does she turn to give Bruce Wayne just the tiniest look of comfort.   
  
He meets her eyes briefly, and though his face leaves much to the imagination, there is something in the way he looks at her that makes her grab her colleague’s shoulder again; just to keep her steady. The moment is gone just as quickly, and Bruce Wayne disappears within the crowd of journalists and cameramen that surround him.  
  
''Mr. Wayne, a statement!''  
  
''Mr. Wayne, you must be awfully relieved! Tell us, would you be up for an interview?''  
  
''Mr. Wayne, can I get a picture?''  
  
''Over here, Mr. Wayne!''  
  
''Mr. Wayne, what do you have to say to Batman for not being here?''  
  
''Smile!''  
  
''Mr. Wayne!''  
  
He says nothing. Merely releases a heavy breath he never intended to hold and looks towards the rooftop.

 

* * *

 

 

In the darkness she almost misses the other building completely. Having another body wedged under her arm is difficult and it is painfully close to knocking her off balance at first, and it is with much strain that she smoothens their landing. Adding that to her inexperience with grapple hooks it feels like a feat on its own that the plan actually succeeds.   
  
''I have him!'' She whispers and the other archer looks at them with eyes wide in wonder. ''That was  _brutal_ ''  
  
It's a strange sight, seeing here there, hair pinned tightly under the wig, the costume oddly tight across her curves; even though the material is very stretchy it still lies tight across some places. Even so, she looks enough like the boy wonder to fool the masses.  
  
The shivering boy is held securely in her grasp as blue eyes dart around frantically. The shock is proving much too great as the world spins around him and he's not really sure where he even is. What he does know very certainly is that someone's  _touching_ him and his heart beats so fast within. Dick doesn't know who's there or why but he should be  _falling_ , so why isn't he falling unless -- unless this isn't even real, unless he's not where he thinks he is until ohgod please no --  
  
''Dick?'' Roy says, voice low, his distance being kept carefully. ''It's fine, it's just me and --''  
  
The kick comes at him too quickly, takes him by surprise and Roy is pushed backwards by the force. Artemis tightens her grip out of sheer reflex, realizing only afterwards what a reckless move it was as Dick starts thrashing. She grabs a hold of his arms only so he won't throw himself off the building in fear, out of sheer panic because he's flailing so wildly he's going to lose control but the longer her touch lingers, the harder his panic pounds.  
  
And Dick is resilient, a lot stronger than she realized, but the archer isn't as weak, isn't as tired and hungry and worn down, and it feels more and more impossible to get away from her. Still, he tries, tries desperately as Dick's mind is riddled in confusion because he doesn't understand.   
  
''I didn't want to have to do this.'' She says, as some kind of apology to them both.  
  
Roy counts the seconds until the screaming starts. Hopes deeply that the others won't think they're murdering him.   
  
Artemis' stomach feels cold with ice but she refuses to give in, no matter how hard he squirms and kicks or how his breaths come out with the same roughness as if he was choking. She knows she can't  _talk_  sense into him and that she has to come up with something productive, yet deep inside her mind she knows that this is taking it too far.  
  
''Dick, calm down!'' she says but he refuses to listen to her, like her words alone are poison.  
  
''No! No, let me go!''  
  
Dick squirms and struggles, movements unrefined as he's not really counteracting, simply wildly throwing his limbs around in the hope that he'll hit something eventually. By some miracle, an elbow connects with her face and the next thing Artemis knows, her brain has stopped thinking, skipped the reaction stage and jumped straight to action. He screams even louder as she slowly comes to realize she's pinned him to the ground.  
  
''Get  _off_  me!''  
  
''I'll get off you when I can trust you not to fall off the damn building! Now will you  _calm_  down?''  
  
It sounds like in the middle of all the desperate screaming a few words are trying to break out, Roy's not entirely sure but he thinks he manages to pick out a mangled nonononono in the middle.   
  
''Let  _go of me_  no no no no get off get  _off_  --''  
  
''Dick, calm down, stop screaming. It's just me. It's just Artemis and Roy.''  
  
She knows she's being extremely careless; though Dick had seemed to be fine in a fist fight, the close proximity of being pinned to the ground is proving too much for him. She can't say she shouldn't have seen it coming, and trapping a torture survivor probably isn't the most humane idea, but she's not too sure that letting him go is the better option.

Hands thrash and scratch at her, dig into her neck and arms and try to push her far, far away. Artemis keeps her grip firm as Dick just keeps on kicking and screaming. The only reason she doesn't dare to let go is because she's too scared of what he might do if she does. She can't trust that the boy won't hurt himself in pure fear alone.  
  
Then, with no real warning, all fight simply leaves him; Dick's muscles slacken, give in to the weight on his frame and his legs stop moving. While his breath increases in labor, hitches in his throat like it’s gotten stuck, his panicked screams instead shrink into a raspy, quiet sob.   
  
''Please don't please god please god don't -- ''  
  
Roy tries not to feel too much about it.  
  
''Dick, it's fine.'' Artemis whispers. ''It's just us. We're not here to hurt you, okay? So just, please, calm down.''  
  
The boy doesn't move, doesn't answer and simply lies there, as if waiting for her to do something. She's not sure what exactly, but has the feeling she doesn't really want to know.   
  
''I think that's enough'' Roy mumbles, holds out his hand and she looks at him for a while before she takes it, uncertain to do so.  
  
Very, very slowly, and very, very carefully, she steps off the boy who curls into himself as if by reflex. Red Arrow sighs.  
  
''Green Arrow said ... He said the torture wasn't everything but... I...'' The older boy shakes his head. Can't even look at Dick because it hurts too purely. ''I never... I mean, I suspected but... didn't believe him, didn't want to believe that... ''  
  
Not Dick. Not him. Certainly not Robin. Anyone else but not  _Robin_. It just didn't happen. It just didn't. It  _couldn't_.  
  
Roy didn't want to believe it could.  
  
''I knew there was something more to it.''  
  
Artemis gives him a long, long look through the mask. He can't see her eyes but they haunt him just the same. She stretches out a hand, but he slaps it uncaringly away, turning from both of them with his hands running through his hair.  
  
''What do you..?'' she glances at Dick only briefly, can't bring herself to fully look at him. ''No. No, no, no, no. You're not ... He wasn't ..?''  
  
Dick shivers with the sobs, hugs himself closely and shakes his head --  _no please no please don't do this why are they doing this_  -- Roy is as far from his mind as the sky, hidden somewhere behind the guilt, the fear, pain, panic and naked desperation. Lost somewhere inside the terror.  
  
''We need to bring him down'' Roy says curtly.   
  
Artemis frowns.  
  
''I don't think we should... touch him right now.''  
  
She shouldn't have touched him, should have just let him go and maybe not have  _attacked_  a thirteen year old who'd been tortured and -- and -- for two weeks and maybe she was a god damn idiot but what were they supposed to do? He was going to jump and they couldn't just let him  _fall_ , it was their friend, for god's sake, they had to  _save_  him but in the moment, between the tears and the quiet pleadings to let him go, please just let him go home, she starts to doubt their actions.   
  
And Roy is so  _angry_  with himself but leaving him there isn't much of an option either.  
  
''We need to get him down.''  
  
''But --''  
  
'' _Now._ ''  
  
She wallows but squashes whatever nasty retort she had.   
  
''Okay.''  
  
''Dick'' Roy says as he crouches down next to the boy, who curls further into himself until his bones simply won't bend any further. ''It's okay. It's -- it's okay.''  
  
It's not. He knows it's not, but for the moment it's all he has to offer. All he can think of saying.   
  
''I'm going to have to touch you, okay?'' he brings his hand out but Dick throws himself away from it before it has the chance to land on his skin. Roy sighs. ''Great.''  
  
''Maybe I should do it? I mean his... they ... they were male, right?''  
  
Roy glares at her.  
  
''Yeah. They were.''  
  
''So maybe... maybe he'll be less frightened if I... if I carry him? I mean, he's not really... present enough to see me but maybe... I don't know. Just the feminine smell of my perfume... might be enough...''

It's not the best of plans, but at least it's a plan. Roy nods at her and moves away from the boy, waits for Artemis to move. She inches towards him, slowly, afraid she might startle him, that he'll sprint off the instant she makes a sudden move. He doesn't, though, and eventually she's gotten near enough to touch him.

She hesitates at first, wants to take it as slowly as she can. Roy regards them in tenseness, absentmindedly he acknowledges the many sounds from below, makes out the occasional sentence but nothing really coherent. It's all just a lump of noises and action, one he's not too keen on facing.  
  
''Hey, circus boy'' she whispers in the sort of tone her mother used when she was little and sad. ''I'm here to take you to Bruce, okay? Can you calm down a bit for me?''  
  
Dick shivers and breathes, pushes the air out of him as if they’re a million bugs and he flicks them off, one by one by one but they just keep coming. The fear crawls over him like swarms of insects, covering his body, burrowing into his skin and Dick doesn't dare open his eyes. He hears the voice, familiar, but familiar could just as well be bad.  
  
She touches his shoulder and though he doesn't thrash as she had expected, he shudders. Like she's hurting him, even though her touch is gentle, he closes his eyes even tighter and it looks like every part of him is in pain. Slowly, gently, she rubs at his upper arm in an attempt to soothe him. As she lowly starts to speak there is a humming to her voice.  
  
''I'm going to lift you, very carefully, okay? First I need you to sit up''  
  
Dick tries not to cry, tries really hard but the tears have a mind of their own. They keep running down his cheeks as the sobs rattle his body, push through his throat and hurt. It all hurts so much, he just wanted it to stop  _hurting_.  
  
''I didn't tell them'' he whispers, and Artemis doesn't like the way it makes her feel.   
  
''I know you didn't'' she says.   
  
After she brings him to a sitting position, Dick slowly opens his eyes. Carefully, afraid of what might await him, of whatever reality he'll be waking up to. Fake, a dream, a nightmare, it doesn't really matter. The horror will be there. This is about the only thing he surely knows.   
  
When he looks at her it brings together all the little knots inside her chest, unraveling into endless strings of anger, fear and frustration. Sadness, too, in the middle of it all. Artemis wishes she could make it all better with the snap of her fingers. Knows she can't. Knows it's a stupid thought and discards it. But it's a nice thought, anyway, and the longing still lingers.  
  
''You -- what -- '' Dick hitches on his breath.   
  
''Oh, this?'' she touches the mask, smiles, just a little. ''Kinda suits me, don't you think?''  
  
Dick doesn't know how to react. How to feel. It's just confusing, and it  _sounds_  like Artemis, he thinks, maybe. Doesn't look like her, but smells like her. Dick tenses in her arms as she hoists him up, bites his lip down hard to keep himself controlled; but it's difficult, his entire body wants to thrash, fight and run and get  _out_  of the touch, of the contact to his skin that makes his stomach want to bolt, makes his skin shudder in utter disgust and repulsion and he just needs to get  _out_  of her clutch but Dick breathes, in and out and in and out and tries to remind himself to be still.  
  
''Remember what I told you?'' she says. ''About texture? Try to count the threads in the tunic, okay? Just for a little while. We'll be on the ground soon, promise. But just... focus on the threads for me, can you do that?''  
  
Dick swallows, exhales before he nods. Can't bring himself to speak as his throat is closing up on him.  
  
''Hold on to me'' she says and keeps her grip on the grapple steady, tries to keep him in her other arm without being too imposing. ''Red Arrow, are you ready?''

Roy is by her side almost immediately and gives her only a small nod.  
  
''Okay, then'' she says. ''How many threads do we have, so far?''  
  
''Thir -- thirty -- thirty two'' Dick whispers.  
  
''Keep it up, circus boy. You're doing great.''  
  
''Is Bruce -- Is Bruce angry?''  
  
''I don't know..'' she glances down at the crowd, tries to see the man, but his face is mostly a blur from this distance. ''Just ... keep counting, Dick, okay?''  
  
Dick doesn't answer her directly, but she can hear the numbers, quickly rising; can feel him shifting in her grip. Artemis takes a deep breath and waits until forty-five before she jumps.


	16. Chapter 16

  
It's sort of like slipping into a hole in the ice; all the sensations come at him at once, much too quickly for his brain to realize what's happening. Pain spreads through his limbs, his skin and he can swear it shakes the very center of his cells. Numbs him and robs him of all movement. All he can do is to do nothing. Nothing at all besides let the dark curl around him, seep into his lungs and destroy him bit by miserable bit. The pain is everywhere, constant and cruel when it rips through him, right down to the bone.  
  
Nothing is as loud as the heartbeats echoing in his head, and though he wants to move, wants to fight against it, he knows that this is a fight he can never win. Just like when drowning, it feels like sucking water so deeply into his lungs there is no longer any hope for survival. He doesn't struggle. He wants to. But he doesn’t.  
  
Such is the fear that crawls through his body, the anger in Artemis' veins and the screaming in Bruce's head that never seems to fully stop.

The reporters are everywhere, hands grabbing and reaching, microphones slapping her in the face once or twice and so many voices throwing questions at her that she can't even begin to count them all. And their eyes, too. All their many eyes alive with such hunger it starts to frighten her.

The boy in her arms tries to bury himself in her, tries to find some sort of solace in the smell of her and the kevlar, the one he’s worn so many times. Faintly he hears Roy screaming at them but his words are impossible to make out through the wailing in Dick's ears.

  
''Mr. Grayson, would you say the rumors are true? Are you terminally ill? Is that why you jumped?''  
  
''For God's sake, leave him alone!'' Artemis shouts in her best imitation of Dick’s voice.   
  
It's a good thing Dick is so young. Even so, she tries not to talk too much, just in case her boy-voice isn't up to par. She crouches in her stance and hopes it will make her appear a lot shorter; one never knows if anyone is paying attention.  
  
''Mr. Grayson, just a tiny question for the --''  
  
'' _No_! He's got nothing to say to you, so back off!''   
  
The limousine glimmers like a beacon under the street lamp. It seems impossible to get to, she might as well have been wading through quickly drying concrete. The reporters are stubborn, their bodies heavy and their wills strong. Artemis tries to walk faster, push harder through the crowd but her efforts bear little fruit.

‘’Robin, where have you _been_?’’  
  
''Robin, any word on how you --''  
  
''No God damn comment!''

She casts a glance at Roy in a small cry for assistance. He nods but is already busy pushing people away from them. Quietly he contemplates firing off some arrows just to scare them off, but panic wouldn't be a good thing with such a large mass in such close quarters. Artemis growls and widens her steps, feels Dick squirm in her grasp and widens them more.

Rage keeps blooming inside her, threatening to incinerate her from within. It is only with the most stubborn of resolves she keeps herself collected. That is, until one hand reaches just a tad too close and Dick clutches at her shoulders so hard it hurts. Artemis doesn't even think before she extends her arm and punches the reporter in the face.   
  
''Oh my god'' she hears someone gasp, but at least they keep a distance from her after that.  
  
A miniscule one, but it's enough for her to reach the limousine within the following seconds. She lets Dick down slowly, his legs stiff and shaking, he holds on to her shoulder for a little while longer before he takes a deep breath and nods. Head bowed and eyes hidden, he waits for the limousine door to open. Bruce looks at him, gives Artemis a narrow stare before he exhales. His hand stretches out to touch her shoulder, to thank her, but she waves him off quickly.  
  
''It's fine.''  
  
''We are going to have to talk about this.''   
  
Artemis wants to buckle under his gaze, but the breathless gratitude in his voice is enough to keep her on her feet. So she nods.  
  
''I know. Red Arrow and I will... We'll... You know. See you around.''  
  
Without another word, he lets her go. Artemis nods at Red Arrow to lead the way. It's not without a small glance towards the billionaire that Roy complies. Hoping that one look can convey everything he doesn't feel like saying, but Bruce’s face is blank. 

They're gone quickly into the night, and Artemis is secretly glad for the dark far up there because grapple lines is just one of the many things she needs to work on. Bruce watches them leave before the sudden flash of journalists who found their courage again bring him back to reality.  
  
''Mr. Wayne --''  
  
''I have no comments.''  
  
''But sir --''  
  
He turns his back to them and Alfred quietly opens the limousine door. Dick looks hesitantly at it, takes a shaking step to get inside when the smell brutally knocks him off course. He hadn't thought it would be a problem, but of course it would be now. He barely has time to hate himself before he vomits on the ground.   
  
''Master Dick, are you -- ?''  
  
''I'm  _fine_ '' he heaves, feels his stomach do a backflip and knows the lie is poor. Balancing himself against the limousine he sucks a deep breath through his nose, tries to calm down but the smell of the seats feels like a wall, strong arms pushing against him until it gets nearly physically impossible to get inside. ''I'm going -- going to -- to need a bag if this is -- if this is going to work.''  
  
Alfred nods and disappears somewhere, reappears moments later with a little plastic bag in his grip and hands it to the boy. Dick doesn't look at him, just takes a deep, deep breath, as if readying himself for a plunge, and gets inside.

  
''Mr. Wayne'' It's officer Bullock who has fought to get to their side, and he gives Bruce a questioning, sort of angry kind of stare. ''Are you sure you should..? Shouldn't we y'know, check him out or..?''  
  
''I'll handle it.''  
  
''Yeah, I don't doubt ya, big guy, but it's procedure -- ''  
  
Bruce gives him a cold, cold stare. Bullock says no more as he backs a little, allowing the other man to get inside the limousine. Alfred closes the door after him, gives Bullock a curt nod of thank you and disappears into the driver's seat.   


The officer feels like he should speak up but can't find it in him to do more than gawk as the vehicle pulls out into the street and disappears.

 

* * *

 

 

Dick keeps the bag in a trembling, ghostly grip between his legs and his head is lost inside it for most of the trip. Bruce stares straight ahead and listens to the labored breathing, strained heaving and occasional full out vomiting. Twists the fabric of his trousers between his hands, grinds his jaws and says nothing.

He's not even sure what to say, it all sounds so pointless in his head. Instead he files the emotions neatly into little compartments, for some other day, far from today, when he might be better able to deal with them.

Fear howls in the background of his thoughts. He wants to yell at him, wants to scream until he instills such fear into the boy that he can be certain this will never happen again. But he doesn't, because he knows it won't help. So he simply closes his eyes and repeats calming words in his mind and tries to take solace in the fact that the seat next to him isn't empty.  
  
''Dick'' he tries after the boy hasn’t vomited for some time.   
  
''I know.'' Dick says, quietly. ''Go ahead and yell at me.''  
  
Bruce sighs.  
  
''What you did tonight was incredibly stupid.''  
  
Dick flinches in his peripheral. Bruce wills himself to slowly turn towards him, still hiding behind his knees and the plastic bag; the smell of the vomit is pungent but at least it's enough to drown out the smell of the leather.   
  
''But you know that.'' Bruce says. ‘'I don't have to tell you that this is going to be all over the media or how hard it will be to repair the damages. I don't need to tell you what an incredibly, completely idiotic thing this was and how you should _know better_  --'' Dick shifts in his seat. ''What I apparently  _need_  to tell you is that I'm glad you were this stupid.''  
  
Dick holds his breath for a moment before he dares to throw him a sideway glance.  
  
''What?''  
  
''If you had been smart about this we wouldn't have gotten here on time.''  
  
He would be dead. Gone. And Bruce should have done more to prevent this.  
  
''Sorry, next time I'll plan it more'' Dick spits.  
  
''Don't you  _dare_  speak to me like that'' Bruce bores his eyes into him like a long set of claws and they hurt just enough for Dick to turn his head away in shame. ''Don't you  _ever_  speak like that''  
  
He sighs in indignation. After a brief pause, he decides to test his luck and reach out for him. Dick just wants to slam the door open and throw himself out into oncoming traffic.   
  
''Don't. I'll ruin you.''  
  
''Dick.''  
  
He gets the eerie feeling that Bruce is somehow all up inside his head, and for a passing second he doesn't dare to think a single word.  
  
''I'm sorry'' Dick says, instead, the words stumbling out of his mouth.   
  
He can' tell if the sudden ache in his throat is from the vomit or the tears he's pushing back, but it hurts enough to make his voice come out all wrong. 

''What are you sorry for?''  
  
Besides ruining his life and everyone around him and dragging the entire media of Gotham city into his melodramatic breakdown? Dick snorts, but it comes with great effort.  
  
''I'm just...'' he leans his head back against the headrest and sighs. ''I'm sorry. Okay? For everything''  
  
He's not supposed to cry. He just isn't. After all these days and nights he thought he'd get better at stopping it, that he'd be able to just deal with it. Pull himself together. Or, maybe, that the tears would eventually end. But it seems their supply is endless, and Dick hides his face in his hands because it's all he can think of. He can't stop them from coming, but at least he can stop them from showing.   
  
''I don't know what I can do to help you. I've tried everything I can think of but obviously it's not enough.'' Bruce says and there's something defeated, something futile, in his voice that shouldn't have to be there. ''Just tell me what to do, Dick. Because I don't think I know anymore.''  
  
''Make it stop'' He mumbles over a sob. ''Just make it  _stop_.''  
  
''I can't do that, Dick. You know I can't.''  
  
''I'm so  _sick_  of this! I'm sick of crying all the time like some little  _baby_  and I'm tired of the nightmares and the -- '' he stumbles on his breath, has to push the words out through the tears. His body is fighting back but he needs to get it out. Like something burst in his head and he has to let the flood drain. ''I just want it to end, I don't -- I don't even care  _how_. I -- I didn't ask for this, Bruce, I didn't --''  
  
The boy can no longer speak as the tears come too strongly, the pain burns too brightly and the million thoughts in his head turn into one unified scream. Bruce watches him for a slight moment of consideration, hesitation, before he turns away.  
  
''I know you didn't.''  
  
He should have been there. It will haunt him, possibly forever, that he wasn't. He knows self-blame won't solve anything, but as much as he tries, there is nothing left to do. Nothing left to give. This is Dick's fight to win.   
  
It shouldn't have to be, but it is.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Barbara has her ways to get things done. Despite being a teenage girl in Gotham and the time being way past Danger Hour, the moment the broadcast steals her away from her textbooks, she lets self-preservation slide.

Even though it probably wouldn't do much good if she runs into trouble, she makes sure to always carry a can of pepper spray with her. If nothing else, at least it keeps her dad calm. She grabs her jacket and hops on the first bus she sees with keys tightly clutched between her fingers. The anger steers her gently through the city and before she has much time to reconsider, it has already moved her legs.  
  
''Hey, Barbara'' Montoya greets her when she steps into the police station. Dark, hard eyes peer intensely at her as the officer realizes just how late it is. ''What are you doing here this late? Shouldn't you -- tell me you didn't  _walk_  here?''  
  
Barbara waves her hand.  
  
''No, no! I took the bus!''  
  
''You what?!''  
  
''Relax!'' Before Montoya has the time to launch into a rant of the dangers of the city - as if she didn't already  _know_ , like the commissioner's daughter actually had the luxury to not know - she tries to steer the conversation to a path more benefitting of her intentions. ''Hey, have you seen my dad?''  
  
Montoya's eyes roll back in what can't be much more than pure frustration. Barbara suspects wherever her father is, he's not in the best of moods.  
  
''He's been arguing with Bullock for the past while. I'm not sure you really want to get in there right now.''  
  
The girl knows how ugly quarrels between tired cops can be. Especially if one of those is the expert button-pusher Harvey Bullock.  
  
''Are they..?'' She fidgets a little. ''They're not arguing about... about Dick, are they?''  
  
''Dick..?'' she looks confused for a moment before her brain manages to sort out an image, a name to connect with the nickname, out of the muddled mess of police reports and paper work in her brain. ''Oh. Dick Grayson?'' Then her face sours in a way only Montoya's can. ''He's a friend of yours, right?''  
  
''Yeah, we... We go to the same school.''  
  
The woman hesitates for a brief moment before she squeezes the girl's arm as reassuringly as she can. She wasn't on the scene and no one's bothered to tell her much about it, but she can tell just from watching Bullock that it hasn't been an easy night. Since his jerk level seems to have been cranked up to ten, Renée hasn't really felt like dealing with him.

It’s enough of a handful with the last case dumped on her not too long ago; something about gunned down men in the harbor. They all had their guesses as to who was behind it, but nothing substantial to build on. Even if she'd wanted to find out more about the suicide, she hasn't had the time.  
  
Montoya casts a glance around, sees the vending machine and supposes she and the girl could both use a little breather. At least if the way she’s gnawing through her lower lip is anything to go by.  
  
''Thirsty?'' Montoya says.  
  
Barbara looks at her with slight confusion, which eventually turns into uncertainty. But as she feels just how tense her back really is, and how hard her stomach really churns, she nods.  
  
''A little bit.''  
  
Montoya offers a tiny smile before she puts her hand on her back and shepherds the girl forward.  
  
''I think we'll have time for a snack before those two are done.''  
  
The girl follows her over to a bench and sits down without as much as a word. Montoya forgets to ask for any specific wishes but figures all kids like chocolate. Either way, the girl doesn't complain when she gets the plastic cup. Doesn't thank her either, just stares at the rising steam with eyes wide in inquiry.  
  
''I just... I don't get it.'' 

The coffee is revolting but the only thing to keep her from unraveling in the cruelty of the Gotham night, so Montoya quietly sips it bravely as she casts subtle glances at the girl. Barbara has her hands trembling, clutching her own beverage closely, trying to keep herself together. The girl should be used to it, after all this time. Having spent too many nights at the police department for her mother to feel good about it, she has seen so many bad people. 

What they do to each other. What happens when good people get in their way. In Gotham it isn't as much as being in the wrong place at the wrong time, because every place is wrong and there’s never really a good time. Usually it just comes down to dumb luck. Something Barbara finds hard to believe in more and more as the years pass. She knows the statistics well, can probably recite them in her sleep but rarely likes to dwell on them.

  
''He seemed... I... I don't know.'' she sighs. ''I never noticed. I mean, of course I  _noticed_  that... that things weren't as they should but...''   
  
It's hard to finish the sentence, so she lets it hang instead, draping over them like a moth eaten veil. Renée isn't sure just what to say. She's known Barbara since she was  _this_  tall. Good kid, likeable. Very mature for her age. Smart, too, incredibly smart and maybe even a bit naïve at times but she deserves that much. Montoya can't say in good conscience that they’re close, and discussing such a heavy subject with the daughter of her boss of all people, well, she can't help but feel like she’s on some pretty thin ice.

  
''People usually don't notice'' Barbara gives her a weird look so the officer elaborates, gesturing lazily. ''I just mean, people who really  _want_  to die usually don't let it on. Makes it easier to stop them otherwise, you know?''  
  
Barbara shrinks into herself and Montoya knows that look in her eyes.  
  
''Hey, hey, no.'' She nudges the child. ''Don't do that. It's not your fault.''  
  
''I'm his  _friend_.''  
  
''I know, but it still isn't.''  
  
They sit in silence for a while and Montoya's mind is hard at work for something better to say. Something helpful, but all she comes up with is hard facts. Cold truths. Things a teenage girl who saw her friend's suicide attempt on TV doesn't really need to hear. Things the girl probably already knows and is using to beat herself black and blue with, judging from the look on her face.   
  
''Your dad is pretty worried'' she blurts out and the girl gives her a little glance.  
  
''Oh?''  
  
Montoya nods.  
  
''Yeah. Everyone with a pair of working eyes can see the kid's been... Well, out of sorts, I guess. I was even starting to speculate myself. It's... hard not to wonder.''  
  
''At least you've met him. Not like those... tabloids and magazines.''  
  
Montoya grimaces at the subtle anger in the girl's voice. At the pain that adorns its fringes.  
  
''He's not...'' Montoya hesitates.

  
''Dying?'' Barbara shrugs. ''I don't... I hope not. I don't really... know. He's not... Doesn't really tell me what's wrong. Like he's pretending nothing  _is_  wrong but. As you said. Any pair of working eyes.''

''Some of the officers who were there tonight want to launch an abuse investigation.''  
  
Barbara can't quite stifle her tired groan.  
  
_''Again_?''  
  
''Yeah. Again.''  
  
''You'd think they'd give up, oh, what, the billionth time around?''  
  
''You'd think.'' She raises her cup at her, like a morbid kind of toast. ''I don't think it's abuse though.''  
  
Barbara gives her a prodding look.   
  
''Just... I don't  _know_  Bruce Wayne well, but you see the way he hovers around the kid. He's protective. It's kind of funny, with the playboy image and all.''  
  
''I guess.'' Barbara's chest shudders at the thought. ''A little bit.''  
  
The door they've been lurking outside for the last fifteen minutes suddenly swings open; the muffled yelling that had been heard from inside feels almost physical when it gains space to move. Bullock is the first to storm out, hands in the air, waving them around like an overly animated puppet whose sockets came loose. Gordon follows shortly by, face so obviously tired it hurts Barbara to see him. He rubs at his eyes under the glasses, looks like he's about to say something when he suddenly notices the two.  
  
''Barbara? What are you  _doing_  here? It's almost midnight!'' He checks his watch and huffs. ''It  _is_  midnight.''  
  
''She's just worried about her friend.''  
  
Gordon looks like he wants to be angry but his emotions fail him. As hard as he tries to avoid the bright green eyes of his daughter, eventually he is drawn to them like a fly to its trap. Knowing it will be his doom, but unable to resist anyway. He sighs and his shoulders slump a bit with the movement.   
  
''Barbara, can't this wait?''   
  
''No'' The girl stands up, determined to sound strong. Adamant she hopes the trembling in her calves is only imaginary. ''A friend of mine tried to  _kill_ himself''  
  
Bullock looks less red as he shares a knowing glance with the commissioner. Montoya knows him well by now and recognizes the belligerence still on his face. Before he has time to fire up again she has already gotten on her feet to drag him away. If Renée is indelicate with teenage girls' emotions, Bullock certainly isn't better.  
  
''Yeah, well, if someone hadn't let him go home like nothing maybe you'd get the chance to talk to him.'' Gordon says, the words obviously striking something within Bullock who shifts within Montoya's grip, but the woman only lets her hand tighten around his arm.  
  
''Come on, Bullock. Let's give them some privacy''   
  
''But --''  
  
Montoya snarls.  
  
''I'm not asking you.''  
  
Bullock grimaces, but lets her drag him anyway. Before the two depart he manages to shoot Gordon a look that tells him he is far from finished and Jim returns the gaze with the same amount of force. When the two are out of sight he can't hold back a sigh as he meets his daughter's eyes.  
  
''Does your mother know you're here?''  
  
''No''   
  
He groans.  
  
''Fantastic...'' Gordon rubs at his face, longs for sleep before he pushes that thought away. ''Listen, I'll drive you home and we can talk about this in the morning, okay?''  
  
''But dad --''  
  
''No, Barbara. It's late.''  
  
He feels something waver inside as she looks at him with those big, green eyes again. His daughter is a smart girl and knows how to use those eyes as weapons, knows exactly how to pull his strings but Jim has promised himself to be more resilient.  
  
''Dad,  _please_. I just need to see that he's... I don't know. Okay. Just. I just need to see him for a little while. Please?''  
  
''Barbara, I can call the school tomorrow, if you want we can go to Wayne Manor then but not now. It's  _late_.''  
  
Barbara bores her eyes into him until the last little wall of resistance crumbles. As a deep sigh leaves his body he already knows he won't win this.  
  
'' _Fi_ ne. But don't tell your mother.''  
  
Maybe next time he could.


	17. Chapter 17

Bullock follows them out without saying anything and Jim doesn't ask. If he knows the officer right, which he should, it's Bullock's roundabout way of getting out of the doghouse. He let the kid go home, so if anything happens in the end it's going to be on his head and, if he's unlucky, maybe even conscience. Montoya asks to come and she tells herself it's to avoid paperwork, Jim is just glad if he doesn't have to deal with Bullock by his own.

So they hop into one car and Jim and Barbara get into another. They leave with heavy steps and say nothing during the ride. A ride which seems unusually long for the distance traveled and the entire way even Montoya feels her skin brushed by cold fingers of dread.  
  
A brief silence meets them through the intercom when they reveal themselves to the camera by the gates, a pause of much strain and perhaps even a bit of hesitation. Gordon feels nervous all of a sudden and though he thinks he can hide it by clasping his hands tighter around the steering wheel, Barbara can still see them tremble. Eventually the butler grants them entrance and it is a long and cold walk through the raw, humid night.  
  
Gordon only has to knock once before the door opens. Almost as if the butler has been waiting behind it since the moment the intercom shut off. His face is stiff and unrevealing, his back straight even though Gordon would have thought a man of his years to be slouching. His own back is already getting a rough treatment and he finds the aching in his bones getting sharper each day. But Pennyworth deceives not one emotion and lets them in with a curt little nod.  
  
''May I take your coats?''  
  
Gordon raises a hand and Bullock simply grunts.  
  
''It's fine, Mr. Pennyworth'' The commissioner says and is slightly unnerved by the British man's smile.  
  
''Please, commissioner, call me Alfred.''   
  
''Uhm. Alright. Alfred'' Gordon shifts. ''You don't happen to have Mr. Wayne around, by any chance?''  
  
''Certainly, sir. Right this way.'' he smiles a little softer at Barbara as they begin to follow him. ''Hello, miss Gordon.''  
  
''Hi, Alfred'' she returns the smile but it feels heavy.  
  
''Forgive me, but is it not a tad late to be visiting? You do know that you are very much welcome in the morning as well?''  
  
Barbara bites her lip and drowns the sigh. Can't really look him in the eyes but doesn't seem to have to, Alfred already knows what's on her mind. What's on all their minds. After all, he'd have to be a fool not to. Still, he keeps a good appearance as it is not really his place to comment.  
  
''I uh... I came to see Dick.''  
  
''Ah.''   
  
''He's not asleep, is he?''  
  
Something bitter wanders across the butler's face but is gone before she has time to really consider it.  
  
''No. No, he is not.''  
  
They say nothing else for a brief while before only Bullocks speaks, talking about the paintings. The way they seem to follow him with their eyes. Montoya hisses at him, but Bullock keeps an eye on them the rest of the way to wherever the butler is heading.

Gordon has his hand on Barbara's shoulder, as much for her as his own sake, and eventually Alfred stops them at the foot of a dizzyingly long staircase. He disappears and leaves them in silence as they await his return; when it comes he has an unusually grim Bruce Wayne in his tow.  
  
''Thank you, Alfred.'' Bruce says. ''Could you..?''  
  
Alfred simply nods and returns upstairs, disappearing quietly. Bruce turns to them with a tight mouth but tries to look approachable. He can't quite shake the need for privacy out of his limbs, even Bullock can read it off his body language but decides to remain mute about it.  
  
''Commissioner. Officers.'' He lets his eyes rest on Barbara for a while and it sends a shiver down her spine. ''Barbara.''  
  
''Good evening, Mr. Wayne'' Montoya says and Bullock wisely settles for a nod.   
  
Barbara smiles as she does not quite trust her voice.  
  
''I'm sorry to disturb you this late, Mr. Wayne'' Gordon says even if his voice tells of the opposite. ''But in light of recent events I feel uneasy leaving things as they were. You might understand if I don't feel too good about just letting this end the way it did.''  
  
''Certainly.''

''I wasn't at the scene myself, as I was busy out at Arkham --''  
  
''How is Arkham? I heard it was quite a scene.''  
  
Gordon frowns at the thought. The place had been a complete mess when he arrived; an entire wall blown to dust, fallen beams and debris littering the ground as far as the eye could see. Each patient on the southern wing had escaped and they still had to catch half of them. The security cameras had gone offline but the usual suspects ran through his mind at the time, there really weren't that many to consider. As usual a lot of higher ups are barking down his neck about it and the paperwork alone is going to be torturous. Quite honestly, he isn't sure which scene he'd rather have been at tonight.  
  
''We have it under control.''  
  
''I'm glad to hear that''  
  
Gordon sighs a bit irately.  
  
''Look, let's just be straight forward, Mr. wayne. You know why I'm here.''  
  
Bruce regards him for a moment, his face only tightening. Sometimes the man appears to be more statue than human, stone-like and cold. Perhaps it is those qualities that keep a parent together after something like this. Gordon doesn't want to think about it, but with Barbara with him it gets harder not to. Because what if it had been her? What would he have done? Wanted the police to interrogate them? Wanted them to bash into his home before the dust could settle and breaths be released? No. He wouldn't want that at all.  
  
''I do.'' Bruce's voice is dark, dripping poison. ''Let me guess, you want another investigation for abuse?''  
  
Jim snorts sardonically. The following hours of a suicide attempt were the most crucial, the most volatile. He knows this because he has to know. Jim's not here as a father, he is here as a policeman and his job needs to come before his emotions. Too many people could be hurt if it didn't and he wills himself to remember that.  
  
''Not tonight, Mr. Wayne. Tonight I just want to talk to Dick.''  
  
''And it can't wait.'' The man says, more a statement than a question because he knew they'd come.   
  
Eventually. If not someone else, at least Gordon. He’s a good man and he cares. Too much right now. But he'd rather it be Gordon than any of the others and it is best to get it over with.  
  
''No. I'm afraid it can't.''  
  
Bruce motions at the stairs.  
  
''He's in his room. I'll show you.''  
  
''Thank you.''  
  
Gordon takes a step up the stairs but doesn't get very far before Barbara places a hand on his elbow, looking at him with worried eyes.  
  
''Dad?''  
  
Gordon glances at Bruce.  
  
''Barbara wants to... She wants to see him. I said it'd be better to do it in the morning but --''  
  
Bruce silences him with a gentle gesture.  
  
''I understand, commissioner. They're friends, after all.'' Then he sets his sharp eyes on Barbara and she feels herself shrink. ''I'll ask him how he feels, alright? Gordon alone might be overwhelming in his current... state.''  
  
Barbara swallows and fights hard against her own grief.  
  
''It's okay. I understand. Just... Ask him, please. And if not just... just tell him I'm here, okay?''  
  
Bruce nods. When she looks into his eyes there is a strange absence of light, it hurts something inside of her.  
  
''I will.''

* * *

 

Bruce leads Gordon to the boy's room and it is a heavy silence that lies over them. It reminds him of prisons, of hospitals and funeral homes. Of everything bad and unpleasant but Gordon tries to shake it off before he enters. The butler sits on a chair, patient and silent, eyes carefully on the huddled boy sitting far away from him on the bed.   
  
''Dick. Commissioner Gordon would like a word with you.'' Bruce's voice indicates no room for discussion but has a hardly detectable air of gentleness to it. It's not really an order, but it's not a suggestion either. ''Barbara is downstairs too, if you feel up to meeting her.''  
  
Dick doesn't pick up on it, barely hears the words through the static in his head. He fiddles with his hands and only glances briefly at the commissioner. When Gordon sees his movements, slow and uneven, it briefly makes him think of old, sick men in hospitals. 

It's what really hits home, with everything. Simply hearing the words  _suicide_  and  _Dick Grayson_  in the same sentence wasn't enough. Those were just letters bunched together to form speech. It was just paperwork, if still heartbreaking. When he’s actually standing mere feet from the boy, really looks at him and sees the way his shoulder sag, the way his muscles hang like wrung rags around small bones, it becomes a real situation. A real person.

A person Gordon has met quite a few times, someone who spends time with his daughter, someone who is vibrant and bright and so full of  _life_. It’s strange to see his eyes tired out and dull, his face slack and Jim hopes to God those aren't his ribs visible under the shirt.  
  
His mouth dries up faster than a sponge in the sun and he has to swallow a few times before he can manage to speak.  
  
''Hello, Dick.'' The commissioner says, hoarsely, and clears his throat. ''You understand why I'm here, don't you?''  
  
Dick stares at his hands and remains silent. Bruce prods him with his eyes.  
  
''Dick''  
  
''You're here because I jumped from a building.'' Dick says flatly.   
  
''Yes.'' Gordon says.  
  
''Astrous''  
  
The voice comes out like a particularly disinterested commentary on a movie he stopped caring about, more than his own life. Gordon looks oddly at Bruce who looks at Alfred, then back at the commissioner again.  
  
''I'll leave you two alone'' Bruce says. Then, in a hurried afterthought, he looks at Dick who doesn't bother looking back. ''Dick, is it alright if I..?''  
  
Dick shrugs limply.  
  
''Mr. Wayne, officers Montoya and Bullock would like to have a word with you, when you get downstairs.''  
  
Bruce nods at Gordon.  
  
''Certainly. I'll have Alfred get Barbara something to drink and eat.''  
  
''Thank you.''  
  
Bruce and Alfred depart but for some reason leave the door unclosed. Gordon moves to remedy that when Dick gives a sudden hitch of his breath. The commissioner looks at him questioningly while Dick turns away in embarrassment.

  
''I thought we could use some privacy?'' Gordon doesn't know why he sounds so apologetic.  
  
''Sure.'' The boy croaks and sits on his hands.  
  
Dick knows he can trust Gordon, has known him long enough to understand that. Both as Robin and as Richard Grayson, Gordon has always been kind to him. Always looked out for him, in some way. Dick bites his cheek for a moment as he tries to convince the distrust and paranoia to go away.   
  
''Are you cold?''   
  
Dick prays silently to any deity he knows that the man will sit down on the chair and not the bed. Gordon, bless him, takes the same seat Alfred had previously occupied, placed at a comfortable distance, and leans his elbows against his thighs. Hands clasped he looks at him over the glasses and the boy can feel the questions in the air.  
  
''No.''  
  
Gordon sighs. He's not really sure where to start. Protocol he knows, but this isn't a regular case.   
  
''Dick, you don't have to tell me what happened. Or why you did what you did. I just... Need to make sure of some things.''  
  
''Like what?''  
  
The man rubs at his neck as there is no comfortable way to carry out this conversation.  
  
''Well, for one that this isn't a problem originated in the home.''  
  
Dick remains silent. The only part of his body that doesn't look like a card house about to fall over is his tightly clenched jaws. For a moment Jim thinks he can feel the tension in the room pressing against his skin and he clears his throat again and again as the lump inside it steadily keeps on growing.  
  
''Dick. Whatever you tell me, I'll believe you. Just... be honest.''  
  
Blue eyes flicker around aimlessly while Dick shakes his head.  
  
''No. No, it's not... Not home.''  
  
''Bruce isn't...''  
  
''Abusing me?'' His voice which has previously been flat and hollow, takes on the tiniest tinge of annoyance. ''For the millionth time, no.''  
  
''Good. Just need to make sure.''  
  
''Look, it's not Bruce, it's not Alfred, it's not school, it's nothing. It's... It's...''  
  
He doesn't find the words to complete the sentence and turns his face away. Gordon sits patiently, trying to find the right thing to say. Tries to keep professional but it's hard and not looking to get any easier. Dick doesn't ease into his presence, doesn't relax in any way. Rather, he seems only to tense whenever Gordon makes a sudden movement or looks at him for too long. It's strange but still so very familiar. He can swear he's seen that behavior before.  
  
''I could recommend a good therapist. We have... other times like... like these, we've --''  
  
It pulls at his mind like a beckoning mistress. Calls for his reason to wake and the light in his head to turn on. Gordon can taste it, can feel it under his fingertips but it's just far enough out of reach to be completely clear to him.  
  
''I'm already in therapy so it's fine.''  
  
''You are?''  
  
Gordon leans closer. The tiny flinch is restrained, but he notices it. It topples something in his head.  
  
''Oh.'' He swallows again but it serves no purpose in the end. ''I see.''  
  
Jim understands then, sees the puzzle in his mind and wonders why he was so stupid. The door, the chair, the flinch, the hyper vigilance, the over-active startle response. If he was into gambling he'd bet money on that if he tried to touch the boy, it would not end well. It makes it that much harder, makes him that much angrier at so many people and it aches, within him, because it's too close for comfort. Too close to his heart and what matters and it's vile, it's revolting that such scum could be in  _his_  city, that such people could do that to a young boy. Gordon feels his fingers about to tremble and clenches his fists to keep them controlled.  
  
''You know you're very important to a lot of people, right?''  
  
Dick sighs.  
  
''Sure.''  
  
''I uh... Barbara is downstairs but I... I told her now might not be a good time. It's up to you, of course.''  
  
Dick frowns. Barbara. Of course. When all he wants is to be left alone everyone has suddenly gotten the unquenchable thirst for his company. He doesn't want to talk to anyone, not Gordon, not Bruce, not Alfred or Montoya, Bullock or even Barbara. He just wants to be left alone, pull the covers over his head and lie still. Hide from everything he doesn't feel like dealing with until it either goes away or he becomes one with the mattress.  
  
''She just...'' Gordon sighs. ''Just needs to see that you're alive.''  
  
Dick looks at him at the tone in his voice. Like the commissioner's got something on the tip of his tongue he doesn't want to spit out, but that is too bitter to swallow. Dick frowns, worries, wonders, but lets it go. He's tired. Too tired and Gordon should just leave already.  
  
As if sharing the same sentiments, the commissioner gets up on stiff legs and looks to the door.  
  
''Alright, Dick. I think that's all I needed.''  
  
''Bye.''  
  
The boy gives the most unenthusiastic of waves.  
  
''Bye, Dick.''

 

* * *

 

The questions are predictable enough. After all, he's had to answer them before. This time they come with a slight modification but the officers both know their rights to intrude are very few; they can't really do a whole lot unless Bruce lets them. And Bruce is about as stubborn as they come. Bullock loses his temper a few times but nothing too ugly occurs, Montoya stifles him easily enough and moves on.

They ask, Bruce replies and no one is left any the wiser of anything when Montoya accepts that their conversation has come to an end. Since the boy is allegedly already in therapy, their job ends there. The time has come to go back to the police department and Renée is just about to rise out of her chair when Gordon catches her eye.  
  
How long he's been standing in the doorway, jaws stiff and eyes relentlessly boring into the side of Bruce's skull, she has no idea. The clear anger and the amount of restraint he shows is enough to make her stomach coil and Renée wonders briefly what could have possibly transpired during the fifteen minutes they've been parted. It is probably safe to bet that whatever it is, it hadn't been pleasant.  
  
''Mr. Wayne. A word.''  
  
Suddenly wide eyed, the speed at which Bruce gets up is surprising, and not caused by Gordon's appearance in the way he had originally intended.  
  
''Who's up there with him?''  
  
Gordon frowns.  
  
''Well, no one, but --''  
  
Bruce doesn't say a word before he storms past the commissioner; Gordon remains baffled in the doorway as the sound of Bruce's footsteps disappear up the stairs like little rumbling clouds of thunder. The other officers share communicative glances but only Bullock decides to test his luck and speak.  
  
''Somethin' wrong, commish?''  
  
A nod wants to break through but the older man lets it die. Instead he shakes his head in hopes that even if unconvinced, they won't attempt to pry.  
  
''Commish?''   
  
''Yeah.'' Gordon swallows as he tightens his tie. ''No. Let's. Let's go. We've intruded enough.''  
  
They can sense the tension clearly but know enough to trust him. Perhaps it's simply the night itself. Gordon is the kind of cop who doesn't lose his humanity even after years and years in a thankless job like theirs, and it could just be the suicide attempt shaking him up; maybe the fact that it was a kid, a friend of his daughter nonetheless. That sort of thing can wear any man down.  
  
''Where is Barbara?''  
  
''In the dining hall'' Montoya offers, but can't quite swallow the fact that something doesn't feel right about the moment.   
  
There's just something about the look on his face that has her unsettled. Despite that, she doesn't have a lot of time to wonder, as he mumbles a quiet thank you and quickly walks away in an attempt to localize his child. 

Perhaps, also, as a slight attempt to avoid them and whatever pressing thing he wishes he wouldn't know, but still feels the need to hide.  


 

* * *

 

  
When Bruce descends the stairs, Dick follows in tow. With steps small and unwilling, the boy carries a grimace of uttermost concentration as he moves. Moving itself appears the most complicated of tasks and the entire way downstairs he keeps his eyes down. Montoya and Bullock say nothing of it, instead seek contact with Bruce who can't quite help but glance every now and then at his ward from the corner of his eye.  
  
During the time they wait for the others to return, Dick contemplates fleeing back to his room. Every second he's allowed to think, he changes his mind a hundred times over. It would be so easy to just turn on his heel and bolt. Facing Barbara, hell, facing  _anyone_ , doesn't feel all that appealing.  
  
However, before he can make any move to mysteriously disappear, the others are back. Even if he wanted to run now he'll be unable to as Barbara's eyes render him immobile. 

''Hi, Dick''  
  
Dick tears his eyes away to glare at the floor.  
  
''Hi, Babs''  
  
He tries the best he can to think of a time that was any more embarrassing than this, but nothing quite compares. Only the things he doesn't ever want to think about and the humiliation is raw where it spreads in his mouth. Like a tumor it grows and multiplies, infesting every inch, every little breath in his body.  
  
Alfred holds the door open for the other guests, head bowed in a sign of goodbye as they leave the mansion one uncomfortable step at a time. Gordon ushers them out, muttering something about privacy as he casts a meaning look Bruce's way. The children don't notice the billionaire disappear after the policemen and even if they did, it wouldn't really matter.  
  
No movement feels comfortable as they stand before one another, waiting patiently for the tension to ease. Finally seeing him after all this time, Barbara has no idea what to say. She's not even half sure of how she feels about it, either; it's just a large lump of everything and nothing all at once and she can't decide whether to be angry, gentle or somehow neutral. She has never considered herself his best friend in the whole wide world but always felt there is something special with their friendship. Now, standing in front of him like this, she can't help but feel like something has been damaged.  
  
''I uh... ''   
  
Barbara stands with lips parted for a while as Dick glances expectantly at her from under his bangs.   
  
''I missed you.'' She says then, quietly while her cheeks burn the brightest pink. Dick doesn't know how to respond so he merely bites his lip and looks someplace completely else.  
  
And for some stupid, inexplicable, silly reason she can feel tears start crawling up her throat. She can't tell for sure how long she'll be able to stave them off and decides that maybe it's best to end it here. Stop herself before she makes more of a fool of her own name and leave him alone. Let him be until she figures out what to say that won't make her sound like an idiot.  
  
''Hey, Babs'' Dick says as she's about to cross the threshold. Slowly she turns her head to him, scared of what might come of it. Dick squirms under her gaze in a way she recognizes. It's dim and vague, distant like a dusty, faded photo in the attic. But it's there. ''I missed you too.''  
  
She smiles at him. Even if he doesn't smile back, it will have to be enough.   
  
He's alive. And that's what really matters in the end.  


* * *

 

  
  
Bruce looks skeptically at the commissioner but doesn't need to regard him for long before he knows what's coming. Gordon grabs his arm as he walks up to him and drags him to the side, far away from the two officers heading towards their car; not until they're well out of hearing range does Gordon hiss in a low, dangerous voice.  
  
''Why are you not pressing charges?''  
  
Bruce smiles sweetly.   
  
''Has there been a crime?''  
  
There should be an award for the effort Gordon puts into controlling himself. Bruce knows the billionaire facade won't fool him, but it's worth a try.  
  
''You know very well what I'm talking about. That boy is showing classic signs of rape trauma.''  
  
Bruce's eyes glaze over, harden in a way that frightens the other. Despite the way it makes his stomach freeze, he shakes it off. Now of all times is not the one to lose focus.  
  
''So I'm right.''   
  
Gordon doesn't have to look for too long to see it. Despite trying to appear normal, Bruce can't hide the flicker of anger in his eyes. Can't hide, no matter how much he wants to, the awful things that stir within. The night -- everything, really -- seems to make some sort of sense now but Gordon can't decide if he likes it a lot better than being kept in the dark.  
  
''How long?''  
  
''Not very.''  
  
''Is this his first suicide attempt?''  
  
''Yes.''  
  
Gordon sighs.  
  
''Good.'' He closes his eyes briefly; opens them again and looks calmer but not necessarily better. Perhaps even a little bit worse. ''Good.''  
  
''Commissioner, I'd appreciate if we... didn't let this slip out. I don't think Dick could handle it.''   
  
Gordon grimaces.  
  
''The culprit needs to be brought to justice.''  
  
''Yes.''   
  
But they won't. Not ever truly. Justice is much too kind for them.

''What if he... she?'' Bruce's face remains impassive. ''The  _person_  does it to someone else? Would you want it to happen to someone else's child? It... it wasn't someone at  _school_ , was it? Barbara isn't..?''  
  
Bruce shakes his head.  
  
''No. No, this was... far away from here. Commissioner, I appreciate your concern and I understand your intentions but this is Dick's decision.''  
  
''I can't force you to press charges. But I ask you to  _please_  consider it.''  
  
Something changes about Bruce Wayne, something shifts in his appearance and the confident, untouchable, carefree billionaire looks weighed down by lifetimes worth of blame.  The man who lacks nothing looks, for the briefest of moments, like he's lost everything a hundred times around.  
  
''Believe me, commissioner. Not a day goes by that I don't think about what I could have done, or do. But I have my reasons. We all do.''  
  
The older man frowns.  
  
''I'll do what I can about the abuse suspicion and what little influence I may or may not have over the press but... If I see him on a ledge again, Mr. Wayne, so help me God --''  
  
''I know.''  
  
''Barbara adores him.'' Jim shakes his head as if it has grown much too heavy. ''Does  _anyone_  know?''  
  
''Only those who needed to.''  
  
''And you don't count the police into that group?''  
  
''It's complicated.''  
  
''No, no, it's not. It's really not complicated at all, Mr. Wayne. That boy could still be in danger. Other people could be in danger, too.''  
  
It's clear by the way his voice carries that Bruce is getting annoyed; he knows he's letting too much emotion through but Gordon manages to somehow pinch just the right nerves.  
  
''We're doing what we can. As you said, you can't force us into pressing charges. Even if we did, I know the statistics. Most don't even make it as far as court and half of those who do get to walk. If they do get a sentence it'll be what, six months before they're back? And what might they do then, commissioner? Do you think Dick would feel  _safe_  knowing they'd be out, with a vengeance most likely?''  
  
''At least... Get him help.'' Bruce looks like he's about to interject so Gordon puts more force behind his words. '' _Better_  help. There are... support groups, for that sort of thing.''  
  
Bruce says nothing for a while, simply regards Gordon who for that moment could give anything to know what's going on inside his head.  
  
''Don't tell her.''  
  
The commissioner blinks at him, perplexedly, for a moment, then slowly takes his glasses off to wipe them. It sinks in the more time he spends on the Wayne grounds, that the concentrated bundle of energy he's grown used to when picking Barbara up at school, or when having him over for study sessions and the odd Friday night dinner -- God, that boy could power a small city with his spirits -- to know, it is too heavy a burden. Jim feels dizzy, like he needs to sit down but instead he just wipes at his glasses far longer than really necessary.   
  
''Will he be alright?'' Gordon mumbles, finally puts his glasses back on but is very slow to return his eyes to the other man.  
  
''He's a strong kid.''   
  
''I hope he's strong enough.''  
  
Bruce narrows his eyes but says nothing. The creaking of the door tells them Barbara's on her way out, which feels like a good reason to end the conversation. They both glance towards her as her form emerges through the door and she's given them quite a few suspicious looks before she gets to her father's side. He puts his hand on Barbara's shoulder and gives a gentle squeeze.   
  
''If you change your mind, Mr. Wayne, you know where to find me.''  
  
''I do.'' Bruce forces a polite smile at the girl. ''Barbara, it was nice seeing you. I hope next time the circumstances will be better.''  
  
''Yeah.'' She says before she looks away. ''I hope so, too.'' 

They walk away from him with heavy steps and get into the other car. Both engines come alive with a slow rumble as Gordon casts a final glance out through the passenger seat window. Jim always believed that large houses were for large families, large hearts and loud voices. Many walls were built for laughs to bounce between and many wide floors for feet to pitter patter. He has been to many broken homes just like it, and it always sounds so empty when all voices speak in quiet murmurs. He always hates to see them so empty.  
  
He allows himself one final, heavy breath before he steps on the gas and drives away. Bruce watches them disappear down the road until they're completely out of sight. Even after they're long gone it takes him a little more effort than usual to move. Gordon's words roll through his head, back and forth as they gain momentum for every passing second. He ignores them the best he can; there is no room for second guessing or doubt now. He can't afford to let words sway him, no matter how wise they may be. The world isn't simple and he knows better than to treat it like it is, even if words sometimes make it seem as such.  
  
''Master Bruce'' Alfred meets him faithfully in the doorway. ''Are you alright?''  
  
''I'll manage. I'm just glad this night is coming to an end.''  
  
The old man regards him and he can tell the butler doesn't believe him, that he never really did. After so many years he has learned to see through the small lies as well as the big ones but he has also learned when to leave him be. Instead he focuses on the little blur moving impossibly fast all the way off by the horizon.  
  
''I regret to tell you this, sir, but this night isn't quite over yet.''  
  
Bruce sighs as the unmistakable sound of a speedster's hurried footsteps approaches; by the time he hears one foot the other's position has already changed. Wally shortens the distance quickly; one second he is just a blur and the next he is tackling Bruce Wayne violently to the side.  
  
''Master Wallace!'' Alfred chastises with about the same results one gets from throwing rocks at the sun.  
  
'' _OutofmywaythanksI'llletmyselfinhibythewayokaybyegottaseeanidiotaboutathing_ ''  


* * *

 

  
  
''I'm so mad I don't even know where to start''   
  
Despite his words, Wally's voice is low, almost calm. Instead the anger putters slowly underneath his words, biding its time as it grows. He can't feel his body anymore but can hear the vibrations of exhausted muscle underneath his skin. After the first hour he just shut down, stopped thinking, ran and didn't stop for the pain or the ache or the churning searing through his bones as if they were moments away from splitting. Once he saw the contours of Wayne Manor, the energy he'd lost returned full force with the adrenaline and Wally had never run so fast as those last few yards; so short in comparison to the many miles he'd crossed yet they seemed to be the longest of all.  
  
''Are you just going to ignore me?''  
  
''What are you doing here?'' Dick's voice is small and difficult to push out through a mouth suddenly gone dry.  
  
Wally found his friend in his room, having barely had the time to sneak in and close the door before the speedster rushed through it. Dick had pressed himself against a wall, reflexes not letting him ease until Wally had fully registered in his mind and even then he found himself unable to relax.  
  
''What the hell do you think?''  
  
''Saw the news, huh?'' The slow monotone only makes Wally angrier, makes his insides burn until he can't stop the odd twitch of his face.  
  
''Yeah'' Wally swallows. ''Yeah, I saw the damn news, Dick.''  
  
Dick shrinks further into himself, like Wally is nothing but a big, mean boy with a stick. His friend tries to keep himself in check, tries really hard but the longer Dick stares at him with that look in his eyes, the angrier he gets. The more frustrated and panicked he feels and Wally can't stop himself from screaming next time his mouth opens; the words take on their own will with no regard for his and instead he acts only as their vessel.

''What the hell were you thinking?!''  
  
''I...''   
  
''No, no, you probably weren't thinking because the Dick I know wouldn't be so unbelievably  _cruel_  and  _selfish_  -- I -- man, I don't even know what to do with you!''  
  
''What do you want me to say? That I'm  _sorry_? Because I'm not!''  
  
It’s not dying he feels sorry for. No, he isn't sorry for that at all. He feels sorry for existing. For breathingthinkingfeeling _being_ , but not for trying to solve the actual problem, like they've wanted him to do for months now. He’s just trying to do  _something._  Isn't that what they've been asking for?  
  
''No, Dick, no, sorry won't cut it! Not this time. There is  _no_  apology that will make this okay because it's  _not_  okay, you idiot, it's  _not_  okay to --'' Wally stumbles on the words, on his own breath until he has no idea where he's really going or what he's trying to actually say. ''Why? Just...  _why_  Dick? Why the hell would you think this was a good idea?''  
  
Dick’s eyes are hard and distant, strange and unfamiliar. Not just them, either, but his voice too. Something detached about it, something cruel and dark and so not-Dick it makes Wally's skin crawl.   
  
''Because I couldn't take it, anymore, okay? I couldn't -- I've had enough, Wally. I'm just -- I'm  _done_ , I can't do this anymore''  
  
''Do what?! Hide from your problems? Run? Like you always, always run?''  
  
''You don't understand.''  
  
''No, Dick, I don't! How could I? You won't talk to me! You won't talk to J'onn, you won't talk to Bruce or anyone, at all! So how the hell is anyone supposed to understand?!'' Wally is pacing, back and forth until it gets nauseating to keep watching him. ''You have to help us understand!''  
  
Dick feels a bitter taste grow in his mouth.  
  
''What am I supposed to say, Wally?''  
  
''It's called therapy, okay?! It's not gonna fix you over night, it takes  _time_  but the first step is to admit the God damn problem and  _work_  on it! Moving on, getting on with your life and not -- whatever the hell this is!''   
  
Dick feels his throat close up in that old familiar way but refuses to acknowledge the hurt. He doesn't deserve this. Wally's being completely unfair. He doesn't have any idea what it's like, he hasn't seen the inside of his head so how he can possibly say anything about it?

Dick refuses to be sad because he shouldn't have to be sad at all. He should be, wants to be, angry. He  _needs_  to be angry because if he can't get a break from the pain, Wally won't even have to worry about a suicide -- Dick thinks he'll probably just buckle where he stands. At least that's what it feels like.  
  
''It's not that easy, Wally! Okay?! It's not -- I can't just sit down and tell someone what happened and have it all be fine! It's not like I can simply shake it off and forget, alright?! I  _can't_  forget!''  
  
''Maybe that's not the point, maybe it's not supposed to go away. Did you consider that? Maybe you can't fix everything, maybe some things happen and sometimes you just have to live with them! Did  _that_  thought cross your mind?!''  
  
''I don't want to live with it!'' Dick doesn't know when he started yelling, or Wally for that matter, but it feels too liberating to stop. Feels like with every notch his volume rises, it rips a piece of the filth with it. Like a wave through his chest and out his mouth that burns all the jagged edges away. Even as his throat stings and his voice starts to break, Dick doesn't stop. ''I don't want to live with this in my head every single day, I'm tired of it! I'm tired of never forgetting. It never goes away, Wally. Never and I'm tired of seeing it, of  _feeling_  it over and over and over and I want it to stop!''

Wally's eyes are wide and furious, his chin trembling and Dick waits for him to punch him. Wally stalks over to him, towers his slim frame over the smaller boy but the punch never comes. Dick instinctively backs anyway, tries to squirm out of his reach and through the anger, through the desperation, Wally sees how much everything has really changed.  
  
''How can ... How can you  _say_...'' Wally falters on his words, slumps in his posture as the heat of his emotions suddenly turn ice cold. ''No, no, you don't get to  _say_  crap like that!''  
  
''Well, it's the truth, okay?'' Dick holds him with an unrelenting glare. ''I don't want to deal with this anymore. I just. I don't. I  _can't_.''  
  
''So you're just gonna quit, is that it? You're gonna kill yourself and run away from everything? That's your brilliant solution?''  
  
Dick looks at him with unrelenting honesty in his eyes and his voice comes out hollow when he speaks.  
  
''Yeah'' He lets out a shaky breath. ''Yeah. It is.''  
  
Wally tries to, but can't speak. Can't look at Dick, but can't look away either. The last bit of control he had of his limbs disappears and instead he's just twitching, moving in almost inhuman patterns.

  
''What about us?'' he says and he can't bring his voice to more than a whisper. When Dick only frowns at him in confusion, Wally casts him a narrow glance. ''What about the team? Bruce? What about your  _family_? What about me? Did you ever think about us?''  
  
He sounds betrayed and Dick can't fight the feeling that he's let him down somehow. He's so tired of it, tired of them talking like it's his fault all the time. He has to do all the work, he has to pick up all the little pieces and put everything back together because  _he_  is hurting  _them_  and Dick just wants to be a little selfish for once. Just this once he wants to not think about the rest of the world.  
  
''Everything will be easier. Everything can go back to normal.''  
  
Wally turns to him fully now, incredulous and enraged with such intensity it overwhelms him. He looks hurt, too, for some incredibly strange reason.  
  
''I hope to god you didn't just suggest that you dying would make our lives better. I really,  _really_  hope that because if you just did --''  
  
''Well, it's true!'' Dick doesn't really notice how close he's getting to his friend, the pounding of his heart moves him forward on its own. The way it throws itself against the bone makes him wonder if it's about to shatter, spread his ribcage across the room and get shards of bone lodged in the walls. ''No more oh, poor Dick, poor, stupid, defenseless, useless Dick! No more crying, pathetic ---'' Dick takes a moment to remember how to breathe. ''Since I came back home everything has gone to hell. Maybe it would've been better if I... if I hadn't.'' 

Wally sucks in his cheeks, glares at Dick with eyes so wide they look about to pop. Then he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and shakes his head.  
  
''You're a fucking idiot.''  
  
Dick can't deny it hurts to hear the poison in his voice, but he says nothing in response.  
  
''I love what high regards you hold us in'' Wally glares as Dick looks like he's about to say something. ''No, no, really. Thanks a  _lot_  for thinking we're callous bastards whose only concern is to not have to hear about your issues. Thank you _soooo_ much, Dick, for believing that after everything, that's how little you affect our lives.''   
  
Dick doesn’t know what to say.

  
''When I heard... when I saw the broadcast...'' Wally swallows. ''I ran here. Just bolted out the door and ran. All the way over to Gotham, never stopping. Every part of my body hurts but I had to run here, and I was terrified that I might not make it on time. That you'd... be gone and...''  
  
He stops and the silence is unbearable. Under the heaviness of the air Dick imagines the sound of his bones crackling. Wally looks at him, mouth tight, something in his eyes that Dick can't understand. Whatever it's supposed to be, it makes him feel guilty again. Twists its way into his chest until it makes him feel like crying and apologizing or punching Wally in the jaw, anything to make him stop looking at him like that.

Wally doesn't know what else to say because it's useless. Because he stares and stares but still can't recognize the person in front of him. Can't find his friend in those tired eyes; the mouth slack when it should be wide in a grin and the voice that always had a hidden laugh in it that is now empty and distant. No matter how hard he tries, he can't figure out what the hell he's supposed to do about it.  
  
''I...'' Maybe he  _can't_  get better. Maybe they're all waiting for the impossible and it's crushing him. The more faith they put in him the more it hurts to know he'll eventually fail them.  
  
Wally looks at him but Dick has no idea of what he wants to say. He wishes he could just show him, somehow, the many emotions. Like a picture but maybe not even then would the other understand. How could he understand when Dick doesn't? It probably wouldn't matter even if he could.

Wally's face is contemplative for a good long while as regards Dick's features and he can feel the speedster's breath on his face. Realizes they haven't stood this close in a while. Dick closes his eyes and basks in it, the warmth and the smell and the small, tiny serenity that fills him at this proximity. He doesn't know why, but Wally always has a calming effect on him.

Always soothes out the irregularities and bumps in the real world. It sizzles through him but it's a pleasant sensation; Dick feels himself lean in closer, seeking himself to Wally's person as some sort of sanctuary.  
  
But the warmth is gone and when Dick opens his eyes, looks around his friend has distanced himself.  
  
''It's fine if you don't want to talk to me. But you have to talk to someone.''  
  
Wally can't stand this close to him. Not now. Not when he's this angry and he just can't handle it. He hates himself because he shouldn't be worrying about stupid teenage crushes when so much more is at play here. So he needs to move away before he falls completely out of sorts and does something stupid.  
  
''It won't help.'' Dick says with the sinking feeling of rejection in his gut.  
  
''It will if you try. If you allow it to, you can... you can do this, man. I... I know you can.''  
  
It's only half a lie. Wally doesn't know. He thought he did, once, but now he’s not so sure. He still likes to believe, though.  
  
''I am trying''   
  
''You believe that, yourself?''  
  
Wally can't cry. He can't fall apart in front of him because somebody needs to be strong. He's just so scared, so unbelievably, immeasurably frightened. When the angers shrinks it allows everything else to rampage and ruin inside him and Wally feels sick to his stomach all of a sudden. He has to get away from him, but doesn't really want to leave.

  
''You know...'' he says as he hesitates. Lingers as if something is pulling him. An unknown force that anchors him in the younger boy's presence. ''Everyone just wants things to get better.''  
  
''Wally''  
  
''We're all here.'' He glances at him with despair now, more than anger. ''I know it's your usual style to push everyone away, that you like to imagine you're the loneliest person in the world but... you're not. I've never understood why you can’t accept that.''  
  
Because losing people hurts. Because by telling him what happened things might never be the same. The less they all know, the better. If he keeps them in the dark, he can somehow keep it separate from the rest of his life. Two separate worlds that despite his efforts do their best to bleed together.   
  
Dick bites his lip and hates him. Hates him so much because he makes him feel so much so easily and so thoroughly. Because Wally doesn't have to do a lot to mess things up in his head. Four years of training under Batman get blown straight to hell and Dick hates that he's so good at affecting him. Mostly he hates himself because he lets him do it.  
  
''I don't... want things to change.''  
  
''They already  _have_  changed.'' Wally's voice is softer now, but still raw and it sounds strange. ''C'mon, Dick. Remember when you used to tell me everything?''  
  
Dick shrugs.  
  
''Remember when you used to  _trust_  me?''  
  
''Where are you going with this?''  
  
''Dick, I  _know_  you're not really this dumb. Just... Just tell me,  _please_. Tell me what I have to do. Why didn't you talk to me? Just why would you -- how do you think it feels when my best friend rather dies than tells me what's wrong?''

Dick only looks at him.  
  
''Why is it such a big deal to talk about it? I will _never_ think you're weak, I'd never -- you don't need to prove anything to me, man. I know you're scared. Hell,  _I'm_  scared. The fact that... that this haunts you so much -- it terrifies me and I just want to help you. That's all.''  
  
''But what if...'' Dick pinches the bridge of his nose to take his mind off it but the pain isn't loud enough this time. ''What if you can't?''  
  
What if no one can?  
  
Every part he puts back just falls back out again, looking worse for wear every time. All those pieces so carefully collected just to unravel again and again and what's the point? What's the damn point? What's the use of fixing things that just keep falling apart? Eventually you stop trying to fix it, throw it out and buy something new. It's all you can do at that point.

Wally rubs at his neck, fidgets because it's all so hard to say. He soldiers on, despite the embarrassment, knowing that he can't afford to sit this one out.

''This all sounds corny and everything but... I just want you to _understand_. If I could do it all for you, if I could fix it with some magic wand I would, and I hate that I can't do that -- but I  _can_  listen, I can be  _here_  for you and it's killing me that you won't let me.''  
  
Dick doesn't find the words to speak. Even if he did he lost the ability to move his jaws. In an attempt to regain some semblance of self-control he pinches harder at his nose, and harder still until he sees sparkling lights behind his eyelids.  
  
''I hate you for trying to kill yourself because I love you, alright? Lots of people love you! And I hate you because you don't think that matters. I hate myself because I can't stop being angry at you, and I know you're probably taking every damn word I'm saying right now and twisting it into something you can mess yourself up with and I hate that too. Just... please. For one little second, _listen_  to me''  
  
''Maybe you're not important to you'' Wally struggles on. ''But... but you're important to  _me_. Okay?''  
  
When an animal is sick and in pain, you put it down. You don't force it to stay alive in a cage just because you can't stand losing it. Dobermanns, their life expectancy is two years because by that point their knees and backs are usually so useless, the pain so great, it's cruel to keep them alive. So you put them down because you love them.  
  
Sometimes that's the only way.

''It's  _not_ okay.''

Wally tentatively, carefully, puts a hand on his shoulder. Dick holds his breath and tries not to shy away.

‘’Alright’’ Wally says, seeking his gaze. He gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘’It’s not okay. But it’s not totally screwed, either’’

Blue eyes stare rigidly back until Dick suddenly grabs a hold of him with an amount of force that hurts; squishes Wally's body together in a way that makes it hard to breathe. Dick holds him tightly, digs his fingers into his back like he fears that if he holds too loosely, Wally will disappear.   
  
''What if this is as good as it gets, Wally?'' Dick mumbles. ''What if this is it?''  
  
Wally hugs him back.

  
''It's not.''  
  
''How do you  _know_  that?''  
  
''I don't, okay? I  _don't_  know. But it's still not.’’ Wally sighs. ''You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. But  _someone_  needs to hear it. If it's not me, that's fine. Just don't... don't shut me out.''  
  
Dick feels that old familiar feeling in the back of his chest. That thing he should really think about someday. He really doesn't want to because it makes everything complicated and difficult and he just needs to breathe. For a little while he just needs things to be a little bit easier.  
  
''I can stay in the guest room, like in the olden times'' Wally says like he's reading his mind. Who knows, maybe he is, maybe he's the only one who knows him well enough. ''We can watch awful movies and eat inhuman amounts of junk and stay up way until the morning and then whine to Alfred about how tired we are.''  
  
''Or...'' Wally says. ''We don't need to decide. We could just. See what happens.''  
  
Maybe Wally makes it easier. Maybe that's okay. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to trust him. Maybe one person, just one person, can handle knowing.   
  
''Either case I need some food.''  
  
And maybe that wouldn't be so bad.


	18. Chapter 18

The rope is silent as it is gently lowered from the ceiling; slithering like a thick snake through the dark. The entire corridor is quiet, save for an odd snore here and there and that one inmate who won't stop talking in his sleep. Just enough to mask whatever tiny little noise the rope or the creaking of her outfit might cause. She's missed this, a bit. Or, a lot, really.

She hasn't been in the suit since she promised to go honest and the smell of it alone is enough to send shivers down her back. The goggles give a sort of yellow hue to the world and it is, in a way, as if she’s seeing a different reality altogether. A different person, maybe, that slowly, gently and -- if she could say so herself -- beautifully slid down into the lion's den.  
  
She holds her breath for a small moment to see if anyone noticed her. Not that she can imagine they would, she's the best at what she does. The famous Cat burglar got in and out without anyone ever knowing, unless she wanted them to know. Tonight she prefers discretion as any attention towards her could mean she'll be on the wrong side of those bars, and that is something Catwoman doesn’t fancy in the moment.   
  
When everything is as still and quiet as it should be, she plops herself to her feet with the smoothest of movements. Part of her whispers that she shouldn't be doing this, under any circumstances, because what if they catch her? What if something goes wrong? This is a  _crime_. But she stills the voice with a hush hush voice.

Reminds it that this is for a good cause and really, when you help a friend, there is no arguing against it. And it's not just any friend, either. It's Robin. It's family. Someone touched a hair on his little, precious head and Selina Kyle will not rest until such a deed is avenged. Honesty and good living be damned.  
  
The camera in the North corner ceiling swirls around, passes by her, but when the guards wake up from their little ''nap'' and see her, all they will see is an old recording and she will already be far away from this place.  
  
She picks up the key card she swiped from the night guards, unlocks the door and with the most care, most nurture, slips inside. Only a swallowing, devouring darkness greets her. The only little light that swims around is barely enough to reach two inches in, and for the small moment of hesitation she expects a monster to lurk inside somewhere.

Selina points a flashlight into the cell and it is with quite the bit of surprise-- and disappointment, too, she'd have hoped for  _some_  action to combat the crawling of her limbs. She hadn't had a good workout in months -- she discerns a woman in its ghostly beam.  
  
The cell is illuminated in a strong, harsh white and the woman gives her a blank stare. Catwoman regards her for a moment, waits for her to speak, scream or just plain run for it as the cell is open, but she sits still in her place. Just looks at her in the spookiest kind of calm.   
  
''Hi, there, sweeheart'' Catwoman silently treads into the cell, keeping on guard just in case, even though she’s far from worried. It never hurts to be prepared. ''I would introduce myself, but I figure the cat ears and the whip are clue enough.''  
  
The woman doesn't respond and it is starting to unnerve her. Bother her, too, that she just keeps those milky, washed out eyes on her and remains completely inactive. They remind her of water colors that someone added too much water too, splashed it on a detail that only needed a little dab; soft, yet empty.

Selina only keeps herself from pinching the other's face, to see if she's made of wax or some such, because if she's learned one thing it's that you don't get too up close with prison inmates before you know what you're in for. Frow taut, she very slowly reaches for the woman's collar.  
  
''Now'' she whispers ''I'm going to take this collar off you, so no sudden moves, okay? I'm just going to take it off.''

The woman makes no indication of yes or no, and knowing she probably won't get one either, Selina simply taps the unlocking code and waits for the ock to click. She removes the collar carefully, sets it down on the bed and waits. After too long of a moment of silence has passed, her gut tells her it's time to go.   
  
''Come on, darling'' she holds a hand out, the diamond claws glistening in the light. ''It's time to go.''  
  
The woman just keeps looking at her. Selina sighs.  
  
''Hey, now, I know you're not supposed to trust strangers - and I must look pretty strange, I admit that, but you need to come with me. Orange isn't your color, anyhow.''  
  
The girl glances to her side, out into the empty, quiet corridor. Moves no mother muscle, makes no face at all, while Selina follows her eyes and sighs.  
  
''I know it might feel scary, sudden freedom and everything. I know you're probably thinking ''what's the catch? Why is this gorgeous woman helping me?'''' As the girl doesn't even smile - not that Selina expected as much, but she had hoped anyway - she pouts a little. ''Look, we don't have an awful lot of time. I suggest you come with me and continue not asking questions later. Okay?''  
  
The woman looks at her and then, just the tiniest little twitch of her eyelid passes. Selina isn't sure whether or not she imagined it but hopes it was some kind of sign. Of what, she's not entirely sure, but knows there is little time to dwell on it. She flexes her fingers in a meaning gesture, hand still stretched out for the girl who gives it a long, silent look before finally, after what feels like forever, she slowly reaches for it.  
  
''Come  _on_ , we don't have --''  
  
The alarm goes off loud and blaring and it takes only moments for the inmates to rustle in their beds. Groans and angry questions reach them, along with the distant, muffled shouting and thundering steps of guards. Catwoman sighs and decides gentleness is for people who can afford it, and simply drags the girl up by her wrist, grabs her by the waist and runs for the rope. As she's outside the cell a large swarm of guards turn around the corner and they stop almost immediately, stumbling slightly as they see them. One of them raises a gun at her and it's almost cute how he thinks it will scare her.  
  
''You! Stop right there or --''  
  
''Wait here, alright?'' she smiles at the woman, who only looks at the guards with a kind of peculiar light in her eyes. Like she just noticed a fly on her wall but can't bother to swat at it, simply accepts that the two will have to co-exist.  
  
Selina takes it as the best answer she'll be likely to get and puts her down. The next moment she is leaping through the air.

One quick flip and her heel connects with someone's face; as agonized screams release from the man she is already leaping towards the others. She doesn't really  _need_  to, and she knows the longer she stalls the worse it’s gonna get, but it's just too much fun to let this opportunity slip by. It's almost like hitting an all-you-can-eat-buffet after many months of dieting. Thinking of it, constantly lying awake at nights just burning with the longing to take one last little bite. And it feels good, almost  _too_  good as Selina starts to wonder why she ever left.  
  
The guards are soon lying on the floor, squirming with blood and pain. She gives them a little wave.  
  
''Bye, boys. It's been fun''  
  
She hears the next swarm of guards approach not too far away and wastes no more time as she grabs the woman by her waist and starts working the rope. It's a struggle, but they're up just in time for the guards to arrive, and as they start shooting she throws them one last little surprise before they go.

The smoke bomb -- which she may or may not have stolen from Bruce -- hits the floor and the thick smoke fills the corridor. It is with a thudding, ferocious heart she pushes the woman through the ventilation system. As she is unceremoniously being shoved forth like too much meat through the skin of a very thin sausage, the girl still makes no sound.  
  
Not that Selina would hear it over her own adrenaline and the insane, liberating joy that spreads through her flesh.

 

* * *

 

 

There's just something about this that doesn't make sense. Like dust in the corner of his eye.

He gathers the photographs, spreads them out and arranges them in seemingly disorganized patterns. He's been locked in his office for a while now, can't quite tell how long but it's got to be a few hours with the way his back aches and his stomach grumbles. They must be talking about him by now; crazy old Gordon obsessing over something pointless. Or maybe they just figure he's helping Montoya crack the case of the harbor slaughter. It would be nice if any of those things were true, but in reality he's obsessing over connections that may or may not be completely imaginary.  
  
He's watched the news clip at least forty times by now. So many times he knows every twitch Vicki Vale makes, every emphasized letter in her words; the exact moment her eyes fill with unimaginable fear. He's seen a young boy throw himself off a ledge in the middle of the night so many times it's stopped paining him. Instead it has turned into a dull thudding in his chest, one that bothers him but which he can ignore. He has watched the young vigilante sidekick --  _partner_  -- swing through the air and save him time and time again. Even played it in reverse a few times to make it look like a happy story. There were so very few of those, it seemed.  
  
Jim thinks about the twitching. The fidgeting, the sitting on hands that trembled in fear. He thinks of what he's read in case files about countless other victims, what he saw of the broken pieces that remained of families. Victims. Demons. Gordon thinks about them all.   
  
And yet he walks in circles. Tell the truth, he's not quite sure just what he's really looking for. Just that it's there, somewhere, in the mess of photographs strewn across his desk. Newspaper clips of the dynamic duo, a Robin of various ages, so different yet still the same. Photos from the suicide rescue, screenshots and case files and a whole lot of things he doesn't really want to look at.

  
There is one case file he's read fewer times than the others. It's simply too gruesome, too cruel, for him to be able to ignore that ache. The lump in his throat is bitter and raw like mercury; for every word of the report he reads his body grows only colder. Torture. Abduction. War crimes. Murder. The résumé is long for this particular one. The Ornithologist. Gordon sighs. Always with these stupid  _names_. Always a mask behind the mask, an alias to cover the lies. Smoke and mirrors, everything.   
  
They don't know a lot about him. Middle age, right leg limp. An old bullet wound that ripped something, in a pesky war such a long time ago. He had to be a boy when he killed his first human.

He remembers the day the Justice League dropped him off -- quite literally -- they had hurled him through the doors and every officer was speechless at the rage barely contained in their trembling bodies. Gordon had asked why here, why Gotham, why  _him_ , but Batman had only looked at him for a short moment.  _''It has to be.''_  Simple as that. He had left Gordon with the care of a madman because he had to. For some God awful reason.

They had to rush him to intensive care immediately; the man had more than just a few broken bones and the look on Batman's face had scared him. Gordon had seen the capes lose their temper before but this seemed to be more than just normal anger. This, this was personal.  
  
While the man lay in the ICU they did their best to gather an actual case. The capes had left them with a lot of evidence, but as usual very little of it was helpful.  _''A guy in a mask gave me this''_  rarely did hold up in court. Especially not Gotham court. Maybe it could've, once, when Harvey Dent was still around. Now they could only scramble together the crumbs and hold their breath. After that most of it was just a lot of hoping.   
  
Then they started to talk.  
  
The men, the henchmen, he supposed, cracked quickly. Not because of fear, but pride. They couldn't wait to tell the world what they had accomplished. Only something was off. They couldn't actually remember doing anything; they could tell of screams, of crying and the sound of power tools. Of pleads to stop. Absolute silence. But they couldn't actually tell him  _what_  had transpired. As if they had forgotten, which in itself seemed impossible and they dismissed it as some sort of contrived way to get out of prison.  
  
He was different, though.  
  
The Ornithologist. He was calm. Eerily calm. As if he wasn't actually being interrogated by Gotham's finest -- or maybe finest of the foulest was a better term -- as if he was simply sitting down for tea and telling of Saturday golf with the family. Gordon couldn't stand being in the same room with him for long.

No one could, so they rotated a lot. Even Bullock couldn't take it. Had to get out and breathe, punch a wall and let off some steam before he wrung the bastard's neck. It brought to mind a quote Barbara used to cite to him some nights, when work was hard and long and eating away at him.  
  
_''He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.”_  Nietzsche, the old bastard.  
  
It felt important to remember because every minute he spent with that man he could feel a little part of his humanity fade. It was one of the worst feelings he had ever experienced, and he had experienced a lot. For that alone he knew he had to lock him away. Whatever it took, whatever was needed, Gordon would find it.

He would find it and use it against him. Because some people simply weren't made to walk among the rest. Maybe once he did, maybe once upon a time someone loved him. Someone cared. Maybe, just maybe, he cared about them too. It didn't matter now. This was the path he had taken, this was who he had become. Gordon couldn't let him hurt anyone else.  
  
The man talked. He had this amazing ability to brag without really making a show of it, it was more like explaining a very fine theory. Every stroke of a painting, every note of a composition, every word of a poem. His voice was soft and endearing and Gordon found himself unable to stop listening even when he wanted to. And there were so many times when he wanted to.

He could sit through five minutes of it before he had to get out; his stomach curled into itself, screamed, and he could taste the bile in his mouth before he was even halfway out the door.

He didn't see Robin for a long while, which was what really got his cogwheels turning. Batman told him everything was fine. Gotham's villains speculated; no one seemed to know the truth. Except for Gordon. Maybe not even him. Most likely, Batman was the only one who really knew what happened.

Jim could sense they had been hiding something but what they had given them was enough to put the Ornithologist and his accomplices away for a very long time. The woman, the metahuman, said nothing. Denied her right to a lawyer and let them send her to Belle Rêve without complaints.   
  
Robin had reemerged and brought nothing but violence. At least if the rumors were true. In Gotham, the worst ones usually were. Gordon feared for him, but trusted Batman.   
  
He seems to be the only one to think there was something off with Robin this night. Something that didn't sit right with the picture. The others didn't see it, and he could only force them to sit through the news report so many times before they started screaming about labor laws and civil rights. He was imagining it, they said.

But Gordon knows he isn't. The more he watches, the more clearly he can start to discern all the little details that had ruined the bigger picture. The moves weren't as graceful or fluid, they were rough, and it seemed not as effortless as it usually was. More than that, Gordon noticed the hunch of a tall person trying to appear short.  
  
And then there was Dick Grayson.  
  
The boy everyone had been talking about. No one has really seen him much or had anything to bring to the table. But facts are that he has been looking ill, and everything from abuse to cocaine and tumors have been spreading through the social circles of Gotham's highest. Some in the lowest too.

Bruce Wayne, as usual, proves impossible to get a word out of. After tonight the press was going to hunt him like a witch. It is only four a.m and they are still not out of things to say about it; every channel floods with Dick Grayson and his fall. If he concentrates enough, he thinks he can smell the printers burn. But maybe that is all in his head.  
  
Fact is, the boy has been raped. By someone far away, whatever the hell that means. It could just be a coincidence, after all, more unfortunate things have happened in the world. Stranger things. Maybe he really is just imagining the Robin of tonight's many oddities; the stress could be getting to him. His willingness to get to the bottom of this, to sort it all out before lives are completely destroyed. Maybe it has blinded him and perhaps his hunt for monsters has distracted him. Gordon doesn't know. Isn't sure he wants to know.   
  
Even so, he remains unable to tear his eyes away. Montoya comes in with coffee at some point but it gets cold before he notices it. If his gut is right there are so many webs to untangle, and he fears he might be strangled by them all. The clock ticks onwards but Gordon still doesn't move from his desk. Just looks through the pictures, reads the files that make his mouth go dry and lets the engines in his head go full capacity.  
  
In the darkness of his mind, Gordon's monster stirs.

 

* * *

 

 

It's not easy, but neither did he think it would be. He just didn't think it'd actually be  _this_  hard. Once Dick calms down it's as if he’s simply switched off; his eyes a thousand miles away and when he speaks his voice is discordant in a way that makes Wally feel cold. 

Wally assumed he would be moody, snappy or at least  _sad_  if not putting on the customary emotional mask that so often adorns Bruce. He could have handled that because it was what he had expected. This isn't what he had in mind at all.  
  
Wally tries to get past it anyway, tries to ignore it like everything is normal. Dick  _needs_  normal; Wally knows how much he hates special treatment.   
  
Since the younger boy doesn't protest when he suggests movies, he assumes it's his way to say it's okay for Wally to stay. Dick only grunts in disinterest when Wally asks which one he wants to see; shrugs limply at every question he asks and only moves his head indifferently to all attempts at discussion. When he actually does respond his words are few and his sentences vague.

  
Before this, Dick hasn't really thought about suicide. At least, not  _really_. Maybe the thought has crossed his mind once or twice, briefly graced him with its presence then quickly flickered like a weak candle and died. Now though, he can't seem to stop his thoughts from racing. Plans form but are soon stored away and forgotten, only for new ones to take their place. In a strange sense, he gains a kind of morbid satisfaction -- almost glee -- from them.

It's the  _only_  glee right now and though he knows he should, Dick can't force himself to feel guilty. Wally wonders what he's thinking and Dick is glad he doesn't ask.   
  
''So I spoke to the team like uh... Monday, I think... or maybe Tuesday, because school served pancakes so... wait, it might have been Thursday, come to think of it...'' Wally says but Dick is barely listening. ''They uh... they wonder how you're doing.''  
  
Batman keeps all kinds of things at hand, one of them could be of use. Cyanide, what about cyanide?  
  
Maybe just grab one of his razors, a quick, precise incision in his thigh and it would be over in mere minutes, seconds --  
Just blood and pain and then it would be over.  
  
''How's uh... How's therapy going?''  
  
Stop.  
  
It would stop.  
  
''I'm sorry if I'm... pushing too hard.'' Wally fiddles with his hands and wishes it could be one of those days, the good old days, when he could focus on the movie, laugh at the plastic monster and hear Dick crack jokes about the lead actor's hairstyle. But today is not one of those days.  
  
All the while Dick wonders if he should wear something special if he did choose to do something stupid – like tie a rope or –  who would find him, anyway? Wally wouldn't be able to handle it. Bruce would be crushed. Maybe Alfred is strong enough.  
  
''It's fine'' Dick says dully.  
  
Though the two look at the screen in silence they're not really seeing anything. Wally tries to gather strength, tries to endure, but Dick's indifference wears on him like any cross-city sprint or fight with oversized gorillas would. It hurts to admit, but he's getting tired. Tired and numb, a cold spreading slowly through his body like winter stifles autumn.  
  
It's not really as much of a silence between them either as much as a vacancy; Dick simply isn't  _there_  anymore. 

''Hey, birdbrain...'' the speedster swallows as Dick gives a low, acknowledging hum. ''Suppose I'd have to... suppose I'd have to tell you something... Like, something huge. Giganta huge. And...'' He looks away, his palms suddenly sweaty. ''And suppose it'd be really important.''  
  
Dick thinks that maybe a note would be too dramatic, maybe he wouldn't really know what to write and perhaps that's just not his style. Maybe he should just take off, vanish somewhere so far off no one can ever find his body. Maybe he could just disappear.  
  
''Yeah?''  
  
Wally's breath shudders.  
  
''Would... Would you want to hear it?''  
  
Maybe he simply imagines it, maybe his mind is playing cruel tricks but Wally thinks that for a brief moment there, Dick almost looks... curious.  
  
''Sure.'' But it is gone by the time he blinks again and Wally writes it off as wishful thinking.   
  
''This suicide thing...'' he feels Dick immediately tense beside him. ''... you don't have to... feel like we can't talk about it. I promise I won't get angry. _Again_.''  
  
''It's  _fine_ ''   
  
''Sooner or later, Dick, you _will_ have to talk about this.''  
  
Dick says nothing and seems only to withdraw further.  
  
''I try to be patient'' Wally keeps talking, even though his voice quivers, because maybe if he talks enough eventually he'll say the right thing. ''I'm just... I don't want you to... to go. You know?''

Wally wishes he knew how to make him understand, wishes that someone would have taught him somewhere down the line how to show a person that they mean the world to you. Wishes someone had taught him how to convince people not to let go. ''I... do you blame me? Is that why..?''  
  
Dick turns his head quickly, staring at Wally like he’s the dumbest person in the world.  
  
'' _No_!''  
  
Dick glares at Wally until he can’t help but blush, just a smidge.  
  
''No’’ Dick repeats, sternly. ‘’I don't.''  
  
Almost ashamed -- though he can't really think of a reason why -- Wally bites his lip and looks away. The two continue the movie in silence.

 

* * *

 

''Well, my, my. This place is rather... raunchy.''  
  
''It ain't a palace but then again, you ain't no princess, either''   
  
Two-Face puts his legs on the makeshift table they created out of two wooden crates and a board, sweeping some old food cartons off it with his foot. He loosens his tie while Selina raises her goggles to get a better look of the place. Every one corner dirtier than the other and she could swear she heard a rat somewhere. Along with that pesky smell she can't quite pinpoint, but which annoys her just the same, she wouldn't go as far as to call it glamorous.  
  
''I brought the girl, as you can see'' she nods towards the woman plopped down on a weak looking chair as the Riddler circles curiously around her, craning his neck much like a vulture would. ''I don't think you'll need to tie her down, she's... oddly unresponsive.''  
  
''Catatonic?'' Riddler crouches and brings his face mere inches from the girl; gives her a look of the deepest scrutiny while her own face remains motionless. He snaps his fingers just an inch from her face but it draws no reaction. ''Are you sure this is her?''  
  
''Block K, cell 249, subject 201494. Code name Primrose. Real name unknown.'' Catwoman recites from the mental list Riddler had her memorize flawlessly, and she sighs at him. ''It's her, Nygma. Now would you mind telling me what you want with her? She doesn't seem all that harmful.''  
  
''They never do'' Two-Face mutters from the couch.  
  
She raises a brow at him, arms folded in expectation. Riddler sighs and straightens, gesturing with one hand as if he really shouldn't have to explain anything.  
  
''Alright, so I told you that the Boy Wonder was kidnapped''  
  
''Yes.''  
  
Riddler nods, waving a little more.  
  
''Sooo, so far we don't know the whole gruesome tale but... From what we got from Penguin and from what I've managed to find out on my own --''  
  
''The little brat was tortured'' Harvey interrupts, voice painted in stark annoyance. The two men share a glare. ''This girl here is a healer. Made sure the kid didn't die too quickly.''  
  
Selina feels something inside her twist. She looks at the girl for a brief moment before she sucks a sharp breath through her teeth.  
  
''Who tortured him?''  
  
''We don't know much about him. Some guy calls himself the 'Ornithologist''' he scoffs. ''Was hospitalized for a good two months after the capes had a run with him. When he recovered they shucked him off to Arkham.''  
  
''We were going to break him out tonight'' Edward sits down on the armrest of the springy, dirty little couch, crossing his arms while ignoring Harvey's pointed. ''But then the Joker had to go ruin the whole thing and then Batman showed up -- '' he motions wildly at his own, swollen face. ''Doing  _this_  and now they're all gone!''  
  
Harvey pushes him off the couch, drawing a loud yelp from his throat but Selina doesn't pay it much attention. Just clenches at her arms in a sudden anger, a fury burning deep in the pit of her stomach. She bites her lip and glares off, somewhere, trying to collect her emotions into a neat little ball so that she may think more clearly. But it screams within her just the same, along with the boiling, whining urge in her very blood to demand retribution.   
  
''What did they do to him?''  
  
''Well'' Riddler struggles up on his feet, clinging onto the couch for support as he shoots Two-Face a dirty look. ''We're not really sure.''  
  
''Sounds to me, Riddler, like you're not very sure of anything. Really, I suspect I'd get more done on my own than with you two.''  
  
''Hold on now!'' He straightens quickly as he holds his hands up towards her. ''Don't be hasty! I admit, we've not got much to work with. All I know is that the group that is behind this has been captured, most of them are in Blackgate, except for the girl and the Ornithologist.''  
  
''Do you know who hired them?'' 

Riddler shakes his head with a look of bother, because the very same question has irked him for many restless nights.  
  
''It's not exactly a complex riddle. Who would want to know the identity of the League and their sidekicks?''  
  
Selina sighs in defeat.  
  
''Everyone.''  
  
''Exactly'' he nods, but points a finger vigorously, energized as his speech becomes quicker. Like he can't get all the words out fast enough. ''Either case, this gang is all very new to this area. I hear they've been messing up some places in Northern Europe for the past years. The Ornithologist, it appears, has been doing some torture for many years, mostly war related stuff, world leaders, you know. Under the table.''  
  
''No one is ever let into the room during the torture'' Harvey says. He then turns very slowly to look at the girl, eyes pointed and cruel. Selina follows him gingerly, heart throbbing in cold dread. ''Except the girl.''  
  
''It can go on for weeks, apparently'' Riddler speaks and gestures, excited at how much more he knows than they do. ''They couldn't pin them for the torture of Robin because... well, with a secret identity they're not keen on witness testimonies. The League couldn't collect any evidence off him either because the girl had healed him. Not a single scratch on him. But they could, however, pin him for a handful of other crimes that have been plaguing Interpol for the last five years.''  
  
''They don't seem to have acquired what they wanted'' Harvey says. ''But they've been bragging long and loud about the screams.''  
  
''The good part comes last, though'' Riddler says and for some reason Selina can't comprehend, he smiles. ''They don't remember.''  
  
Everything swirls through her head, around and round and screaming, wailing until she is suddenly overcome with the urge to sit down. She places herself on a nearby crate, draws a deep breath and tries to look more composed than she feels. Smooth and professional on the outside while on the inside she's crumbling.  
  
''Don't remember? You mean they were... mindwiped?''  
  
Riddler nodds excitedly.  
  
''We believe so.''  
  
''Huh.'' She rubs at her neck, oddly tense all of a sudden. ''That's one hell of a story, Riddler.''  
  
''Yeah'' He sighs and looks over at Primrose. ''We were hoping the girl could be of some use. There are just a lot of bits of this mystery that remain secret.''  
  
''Good luck with that. She hasn't spoken a word since I got her.''  
  
''Maybe she's a mute.''  
  
The lanky man returns to the girl, snapping his fingers in front of her face once again, but she doesn't even blink. Just stares blankly ahead of her, seeing nothing, saying nothing, her breaths so small that if he didn't know better he'd say Catwoman had brought them a mannequin.  
  
''You know'' Riddler says and turns his face to the others. ''I did expect someone a little more... threatening. She doesn't  _look_  like the kind of monster I'd hav --'' the sentence is interrupted by his shrill scream.

  
''Get her  _off_  me!'' She’s got a firm grip of his wrist, but her face remains blank. He shakes his arm wildly as if a swimmer caught in seaweed but her grip is strong and does not falter. Riddler keeps screaming until Two-Face eventually has enough and gets off the couch.   
  
Without any much consideration or care, he pries her fingers off him one by one while he uses his other hand to push Riddler away.  
  
''Go stand in a corner, you idiot''   
  
''Harvey, she - she - ''  
  
''Shut up!'' One solid glare is all Nygma needs to swallow his words and shuffle away awkwardly to hide behind the man. Two-Face gives her a suspicious look, hands balled into fists, waiting. When she finally speaks, it is with a voice so low, so transparent, it almost passes them by.  
  
''What?'' He growls. ''I can't hear ya, speak up!''

''Get out of the way, you tactless madman'' Selina pushes him away, placing herself between him and the girl as a shield. With eyes hard and sharp, but a voice that tries to sound comforting, she speaks to the girl. ''Don't mind them. You know how men are.''  
  
The girl blinks and Selina is slightly taken back because she honestly didn't think the girl to be capable of such a violent movement.   
  
''I helped him'' Primrose whispers and her throat sounds dry. Like she hasn't spoken for a very long time.  
  
''Helped who, sweetheart?''  
  
Catwoman crouches down to get closer to her face, just to hear a little better. It's not by much, but the words are clearer next time around. Riddler doesn't dare to even breathe in case he misses something, and Harvey watches it all with a tight jaw. The sooner they can get to the bottom of things, the quicker he'll get to pay back those that tried to take his town, and even better, the sooner he can get rid of Riddler.  
  
''There was a shield'' the girl says, her eyes unfocused but still turned directly at Selina. ''To protect from telepaths. They couldn't find us unless we let them.''  
  
''But they did find you'' Selina says, and though she tries not to she can't help but speak very slowly, as if talking to a child.   
  
''Yes. I lowered the shield.''  
  
Catwoman glances over at the other two, who look just about as clueless as she feels. Riddler stands on his toes, still not comfortable getting out from behind Harvey, but unable to hear much of anything from so far back.  
  
''Why?'' is all she can think of saying.  
  
The girl hesitates briefly.  
  
''I'm tired of the screams.''  
  
''What? What is she  _saying_? Hey!'' Riddler is silenced by a smack on the head.  
  
''She's saying she helped the League find him'' Selina gets up on her legs, shaky for some reason, and looks at them. ''She lowered the shields meant to guard them from the Martian.''  
  
''Oh. Well...'' Riddler frowns. ''That's certainly... counterproductive.''  
  
Selina shakes her head, then looks at the girl again.  
  
''What's your name, sweetie?''  
  
''Primrose.''  
  
''Yes, I know that. But I mean, what's your  _real_  name? Mine's Selina.''  
  
''Primmy. He calls me Primmy.''  
  
''Yeah, we're not gonna get anything more out of this broad'' Two-Face mutters. ''We need to find her pal before Joker pulverizes him.''  
  
Riddler makes a whistling sound.  
  
''I pride myself on many things, but thinking like the Joker isn't one of them. I have no idea where we'd even begin looking.''  
  
''Maybe we can lure him out, with the girl''  
  
Riddler nods, stroking his chin contemplatively.  
  
''You know, that might not be a terrible idea. I mean, she  _is_  partially responsible for the torture. Would he be able to resist two for the price of one?''  
  
Two-Face tightens his tie; a resolute, if reluctant, look on his face. It resembles an almost pained expression like he was just asked to swallow a handful of needles or sit through Sunday dinner with his in-laws.  
  
''Only one way to find out.''

 

* * *

 

  
Wally's sleep is fitful and shallow. He wakes every fifteen minutes, the circles under his eyes darkening while the whites seem almost entirely overcome by red.  He feels cold at first, numb as if his brain has been protecting him. It’s a welcome thing, in hindsight, because little by little the emotions start piling up; the darker the night gets the harder it is to fight back. Until eventually, he lets the tears come.  
  
Like an avalanche drops on his head, every emotion that has been lurking in his mind covers him, swallows him like the great jaws of a beast and they all feel so heavy like this. Wally tries the best he can to stifle the sobs in his pillow; breathes in and out and in and out in little hope of it actually helping. Still, he does feel a tiny bit relieved as the tears feel sort of cleansing, as they wash through his body they take some of the tension with them. It's a good cry. One he's been needing.   
  
It lasts for a little over an hour, several months of pent up turmoil finally manifesting physically, pushing itself out of his tear ducts and down his face like a pipe broke. Wally stops fighting against it after the first fifteen minutes, stops feeling like  _such a whimp_  about it because crying is lame and he needs to be strong now when Dick needs him. The remaining forty five minutes he simply lets the waterworks pour.  
  
When the tears finally stop -- and he was about to panic because oh god they just seemed ceaseless, like he'd cry himself into dehydration and  _die_  could anyone seriously cry this much -- he wipes his face which now feels warm and swollen. His nose stuffed, Wally breathes through his mouth for five slow minutes before he gets up.

Restlessness spreads through his body and he debates silently for a long while whether it's impolite or not to raid the Wayne fridge. When the itching under his skin gets too strong, he eventually drags himself off to the kitchen.  
  
With his breath held he listens closely for sounds, and when all seems quiet, Wally takes a step inside. It is only now he notices the heavy breathing, a presence other than his own huddling in the shadows. He stares at it in apprehension for a while before a foreign voice makes him jump halfway out his skin.   
  
''Having the midnight munchies, master Wallace?''  
  
Wally stares at Alfred with eyes wide in fear as he turns on the light; the old man smiles at him in mild amusement but there is also worry on his face. In the bright light of the ceiling lamp Wally notices the butler's eyes are a bloodshot red, as if he's been -- no, no, Alfred can't, he can't  _cry_ , can he? He's strong, unbreakable, undefeatable to such lengths Wally has more fear of him than any of the League members.

The butler composes himself, gives a stiff upper lip and shakes the heavy weight of emotions off him but even though his face is placid, Wally sees the distress in his body language.

''Oh, uh, I'm, uh, I'm sorry, Alf, I was just -- it's just eating calms me down and I was kinda jittery you know couldn't sleep and I _know_ , I know it's bad to comfort eat but I got the habit from mom and you know I'm a speedster and --''  
  
''Relax, master Wallace'' Alfred gestures at him calmingly. ''It is perfectly alright. Why don't you sit down and I'll prepare you something?''  
  
Wally looks at him like the man just told him to go ahead and test-drive the Batmobile, but as seconds linger and the butler merely gazes at him in encouragement, Wally sits himself down on one of the kitchen stools.  
  
''Uhm. Uh, okay. Uh. Thanks. Uhm. Alfred.''  
  
''Are you having trouble sleeping?'' Alfred says as he takes some plates down from a cupboard.  
  
Wally swallows and hopes the tension in the air is just imaginary and oh, god, he just watched Dick's adopted grampa  _cry_  and this is all insane. Is he supposed to mention it? Or do crazy old Brits prefer privacy? Is it impolite not to mention it? Wally doesn't notice the nervous tapping of his foot until Alfred clears his throat, glancing at him. Wally laughs nervously and turns his head away.   
  
While Wally tries to keep his heart from beating itself to mush against the inside of his ribs, Alfred busies himself with a kettle of tea.  
  
''Earl grey or cinnamon, master Wallace?''  
  
''Uh, ah, I uh... cinnamon?''

  
Alfred smiles, knowingly, but simply nods.  
  
The two say nothing but ease instead into a kind of comfortable silence. The more the minutes stretch the tension eases out and Wally eventually relaxes. Only now does he realize how tired he really is and how much his body truly aches. He glances at the butler and wonders if he feels the same as there is something different, less deliberate, about him.

‘’I hope the guest room is to your satisfaction?’’

‘’Sure’’ Wally nods vigorously. ‘’It’s super’’

Alfred pours him tea and gives him a little look the boy can't decipher, before he somewhat distractedly looks up; Wally follows his gaze towards the ceiling but sees nothing out of the ordinary. Then suddenly, there is the whining of old pipes and the butler's shoulders slump a tiny fraction.   
  
''He has been doing that a lot, lately''  
  
''Doing what?''  
  
Alfred gives him a sad, pointy look before he sits down.  
  
''Laundry.''  
  
Wally feels a burning in his head and decides to leave it be. The subtle grimace on the older man's face tells him that maybe this time, it's best not to know.  
  
''Does he ever sleep?'' Wally says instead.  
  
''Not any more than you or I, master Wallace.''  
  
Wally sighs and watches the little leaves swirl in his cup.  
  
''Alfred, you've known him longer than I have...''  
  
''I have.''  
  
''Do you think...'' Wally hesitates. ''Do you think it... What's going to happen?''  
  
Alfred looks so tired.  
  
''The best of things, I can only hope.''  
  
Wally chews on his lower lip.  
  
''I feel like... the more I try to help, the worse I make it. Everything I say he just... just turns it against himself. I'm scared to say anything at all but I can't just do nothing, you know?''  
  
''Yes, I do believe I know.''  
  
''You've seen him at his worst before, right? Do you think he'll... pull out of this one?''  
  
With a wavering gaze Alfred slowly nods.  
  
''I like to keep my spirits up. It is only when we believe we cannot change that change becomes impossible.''  
  
The man drinks his tea and Wally moves to do the same, mostly just so he won't have to say anything, but is interrupted by the buzzing of his communicator.  
  
_''Artemis to Kid Flash, are you there?''_  
  
He can't say if he's more surprised to actually be reached out of the blue or if it's just that it's Artemis. He has time for a tiny second of worry before he presses the earpiece.   
  
''I'm here, Artemis. What's wrong?''  
  
There is a heavy pause on the other end.  
  
_''The Ornithologist has escaped.''_  
  
Something dark lowers itself across his face. Alfred's eyes are on him, heavier now, but Wally becomes less and less aware of the outside world as his mind burns in quiet rage.   
  
''I'm on my way.''


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw minor torture

'Artemis, what's... what's going on? What time is it?'' M'gann rubs sleepily at her eye, nightgown swinging softly back and forth beneath her knees.   
  
The others gather by her side. Kaldur was the first through the portal, water bearers ready and a stern look in his eyes. He shares a brief glance with Artemis who figures he probably already knows. While Conner gets off the couch and stands silently behind his girlfriend, the blonde listens closely for any signs of their assigned den mothers. The distress call to her team mates had been a private invitation, and knowing Red Tornado doesn't exactly sleep, she goes into their telepathic link.  
  
''Red Arr -- '' M'gann is about to greet, but the male archer silences her with a gesture.  
  
_''Secret convo time, guys. We have a problem.''_  Artemis says through the link.  
  
_''What? Why?''_  M'gann bites her lip worriedly.  _''What's wrong?''_  
  
Kaldur tightens his jaws.  
  
_''Is this about the escape from Arkham?''_  
  
_''An escape from Arkham?''_  The Martian looks horrified.  _''When?''_  
  
Artemis activates the computer screen and opens the most recently recorded broadcast. The video shows a man by a news desk, a square of shaky footage hovering by his side. Artemis points and drags to open the square and both videos play before them. They watch the still burning building of Arkham Asylum in grim silence; the many firetrucks and squad cars which light up the night make it look like some kind of celebration, while the smoke that climbs to cover the sky brings the taste of disaster to their mouths.  
  
_''-- as the heavy explosives knocked down most of the South wing wall''_  The man says and they all listen closely as Artemis doesn't dare raise the volume too much. _''Four inmates are presumed dead, while a double digit are receiving extensive care -- ''_  
  
The footage of the fire is exchanged with security camera images of a large ATV. Upon seeing the sordid smiley face painted crudely on its hood they all feel their stomachs drop in unison.  
  
_''Joker''_  someone whispers, uncertain who, maybe all of them, and the seriousness of their situation coldly dawns on them.  
  
The footage shows the car driving away before it switches over to the same angle, fifteen minutes later, depicting two males limping out of the debris.   
  
_''Is that... the Riddler?''_ Superboy asks.  
  
_''And Two-Face''_  Roy replies.  _''Harely Quinn broke Joker out of the asylum at the same time the Riddler and Two-Face had planned a heist of their own.''  
  
''But why?'' _ M'gann frowns.  _''They're both free and I'm not... very up to date on the Gotham rogues but, I don't remember them being friends? Is... is this to do with the Light? Is Two-Face with them? Oh, gosh, we better call the League --''  
  
''Calm down, M'gann''_  Kaldur puts a hand on her shoulder but she doesn't stop fidgeting.   
  
_''The Batmobile tried to apprehend the escaped Joker, but Gotham's dark knight seems to have been trumped by his old nemesis''_ The reporter continues, who they had for a moment forgot was talking, too caught up in the images playing across the screen.  _''Batman disappeared from the scene and we can only guess as to what caused this, but the fact still stands that a numerous amount of Arkham inmates are on the loose. Most have been caught, as reported by local authorities who plead to the public not to panic.''  
  
''Kid Flash - B03''_  The computer suddenly speaks, startling all of them but before they have time to turn around, Wally has already run into the room.   
  
''Okay I'm here I got here fast as I could but it took forever to find the teleporter what'd I miss sorry I'm late and hi'' the words pour hurriedly out of his gasping mouth as he skids to a halt, wind tousled hair clinging to his face in sweat.  
  
_''Kid, you are just on time.''_  Kaldur’s voice says inside his head.  
  
_''Oh, we're doing the mindlink thing? What's up?''_  
  
Artemis gestures towards the screen.  
  
_''Listen.''_  
  
The news reporter collects his notes and images of the missing inmates appear at his side. The computer runs them with the facial recognition program in an instant and a number of mug shots soon appear next to it; M'gann pushes closer to Conner and Wally suddenly feels sick to his stomach as the Ornithologist's yellow eyes stare at them from the screen.   
  
_''When was this recorded?''_  Even through the mind link Wally's voice sounds strained.  
  
_''An hour ago. There are many more like it still circulating, the media is having a god damn party with this.''_  
  
_''What...?''_  M'gann doesn't look like she fully understands.  
  
The two archers share a look and Roy takes a deep breath as he knows it falls on him to explain.  
  
_''How much do you know about what happened to Robin?''_  
  
The others share a brief glance of confusion before Kaldur takes the word.  
  
_''Not much. Even I, as the leader, have been kept mostly in the dark. What I know is that Robin was captured by a Northern European group of mercenaries and that they were apprehended by the League. Whoever hired them, or at least, pulls the strings, is yet unknown. There are many suspects but no one of substance has yet been discovered. It could, quite frankly, be anyone. Most of the group --''_  
  
_''Sent to Blackgate''_  Conner interrupts but Kaldur doesn't seem to mind.  _''The metahuman who healed Robin was sent to Belle Rêve.''_  
  
Roy turns towards the screen and their collective eyes follow him.  
  
_''And the torturer, this man, the Ornithologist''_  he spits the name out as if it burns.  _''Was sent to Arkham.''_  
  
The silence is heavy and pregnant, weighing on them with every second that passes. They take a good look at the man of which they've spent many nights thinking about; what he'd look like, who he was, and it instantly gets hard to breathe. Before this, what they had known had been little but, according to Batman, it had been enough. They had been briefed and nothing more, which the team had been angry about because they shouldn't really be at a need to know basis, they were so much  _more_  than just a team now; they were family and wanted, no,  _deserved_  better.

But it is what Batman wanted and they had silently, though reluctantly, accepted that. Seeing his image now, giving an actual face to the phantom that has plagued their thoughts for many months, it feels strange. M'gann imagined him more monstrous, and though he does not look pretty, he looks strangely human.  
  
_''I read through the case files I got from Green Arrow''_  Roy continues. _''I don't know much but I bet I know more than you. I managed to dig around a little and it appears that the Ornithologist was taken by the Joker.''  
  
''You think they're working together?''   
  
''I don't know.''_  
  
Wally clenches his fists, glares into the ground before he silently channels all hate towards the screen.  
  
_''There's more''_  Roy says and pulls out a new screen of footage.  _''This comes straight from one of Belle Rêve's security cameras.''_    
  
They stare apprehensively at the screen but nothing out of the ordinary seems to be happening. It's just footage of a dark and empty corridor in which nothing extraordinarily is happening. That is, until they note the time.  
  
_''A feedback loop''_  Kaldur states simply and the others look confused.  
  
_''Yes, but if the security guards are to believed, they all got knocked out by Catwoman. Though of course, there's nothing to prove it, but it's what they told the police.''_  
  
_''Catwoman?!''_  Wally gapes.  _''Is everyone in on this?!''  
  
''I don't know.''  
  
''Well, what the hell _ do _you know?!''  
  
''Relax, Wally''_  M'gann says, but her own face looks troubled.  _''Red Arrow is just trying to help.''_

 _''All I know is that Selina Kyle, a.k.a Catwoman, broke Primrose out of Belle Rêve approximately three hours ago. The Joker, Harley Quinn and the Ornithologist are all on the loose and their whereabouts unknown, and they should all be considered armed and extremely dangerous. Selina Kyle has been known to play for both sides before, and though my most recent information is that she's reformed, it seems her cat burglar days aren't quite over. The real question here is whether she's on our side or not.''  
  
''Catwoman wouldn't... she wouldn't hurt Rob.''_  Wally mumbles, mostly to himself.  _''She's got to have a plan.''  
  
''What about Riddler and Two-Face? What were they doing at Arkham?''   
  
''I don't know, M'gann'' _ Roy says.  _'' All I do know is that Batman is intent on finding them.''  
  
''And since he won't let us help --''_  Artemis adds. _''Well, I guess we'll have to do this on our own.''  
  
''Does... Is Robin aware?''_  Kaldur says hesitantly and maybe even a bit worriedly.  
  
They all look at him, that same worry in their eyes at the realization.   
  
_''I haven't informed him.''_  Roy says.  _''And I don't think it's wise to. Not... not now. Not yet.''_  
  
Silently, they all agree.  
  
_''Well, where do we start?''_  Conner asks in determination.  
  
They don't need or want to think about what it could do to Robin if he did find out the man responsible for his suffering was at large, even less than that do they want to consider what might happen if they don't catch him soon enough. Instead they breathe in deeply, will their minds into something close to calm and decide to end this before it gets even uglier.  
  
_''We split into groups and search. Gotham is big but we can cover a lot of ground if we split up. Status report every fifteen minutes. If you find him, do_ not _apprehend him. We need to tackle him as a team.''_  
  
M'gann clutches her arms before she asks with a shuddering breath what they're all trying to ignore.  
  
_''Do you think he's after Robin?''_  
  
Roy stretches his mouth into a tight line while the silence presses down, almost as if the world itself has stopped to hear the answer.  
  
_''I hope not.''_  


* * *

 

  
  
This wasn't what he had in mind the day he took the mission. It had sounded straight forward enough, but by no means simple. No, not simple at all. He was given case files on all the sidekicks, to prepare, read up and be ready when the moment came. They would set the trap and all he had to do was close it. It didn't even matter who walked into it. Didn't matter much at all; what was of uttermost importance, on the other hand, was that he did catch at least one of them. The more the merrier, but beggars can't be choosers.  
  
Get one, get the information by any means necessary. Such were his instructions. He was known in the lower circles to be a man of drama; he did not do something without doing it thoroughly and beautifully. Some people would say him 'cruel', even 'monstrous' had been thrown around but this was exactly why he was chosen out of all the ones who were interested in the job. He had something that set him apart from the masses. He was, by definition, special. Unique.  
  
Since he didn't concern himself much with what happened outside of the world where he moved, most of the information was handled by his superior. The wars, the leaders, the angels and demons, he knew barely of their faces and any name he might remember quickly vanished in the beautiful light of salvation that was the pain and humiliation of living flesh and blood. 

The Operator, the real head of their organization, he knew them all. Knew of every conflict, every profitable 'disaster' in the world. Every person who could be of use and lead to lucrative ends for them. Himself, he didn't care. Just hand him a scalpel and a set of leather gloves and he gets the job done.

Not  _just_  the job. He would make art come alive in their blood; where others saw flesh he saw a canvas and the magnificent, extraordinary masterpieces he could create. It was worth more than any money or any power in the world. Like any good artist, he did what he did because of pure, blind love. It was all he had ever loved.

And now it has led him where they always said it would. He wonders if this is what Hell is like; if this is what his artworks felt and thought when they were under his blade. It was exhilarating but also so profoundly, curiously frightening.  
  
He's never felt something quite like this before.  
  
''Getting comfy there, old pal?''  
  
The Clown speaks with amusement but there is also rage behind his words. Contained, hidden under a ragged cover of laughter and smiles. He can't tell if the madman does it on purpose or if it's simply the way it is with him.  
  
''Oh, right, sorry! I forget you can't speak with that thing in your mouth!''  
  
The restraints are crude and poor. Still, too strong for him to break through. He suspects it is not only his lack in physical strength that is the reason for this, but that he might also be drugged with something. Even though he tries to move, his limbs refuse to obey and he is, essentially, trapped in his very own skin.  
  
''Say, Picasso, I must say I do admire your techniques. Those stories, boy, what a hoot! What a blast!'' The Clown gestures with excitement, tiny, dark eyes glinting in merciless glee as he twirls around in a stained apron. ''Say, if a regular Joe Schmoe like myself would want to learn the same skills, how do you suppose one would go about it?''  
  
He can see Harley in her pigtails and wide, juvenile grin peering at him from a corner. It looks like she is preparing something.  
  
''I mean your are just wondrously, gloriously awful! Magical, I dare even say!''  
  
That something, he realizes, is a set of tools.  
  
He feels the strong smell of leather as gloved hands grasp his chin. Indelicately; he’s sure it will leave a bruise later on. The Clown turns him towards his own pale disaster of a face, licks his lips and smiles like something amazing is about to happen.  
  
''They say to get good you should imitate your idols and well, Picasso...''  
  
When his mind registers the crack and connects the sound to that of broken bone, the pain has already flared through his finger, up his arm and set his entire body ablaze. When the Clown got the hammer -- or maybe he was holding it all along -- he can't say, can't even try to remember because the pain becomes all consuming. It devours his world and sinks itself into his mind until it becomes his very breathing.  
  
''I always find that the best approach is learning by doing.''  


* * *

  
  
  
''Anything yet?''  
  
_''Just as dead as five minutes ago''_  M'ganns voice carries through the comlink to Wally's inquiry.  
  
The speedster groans in frustration and taps his foot louder, forcing the clone by his side to send a questioning glare at him. Wally groans some more in weak hope that it will alleviate the negative emotions. As most times it seems to hinder more than really help; the agitation builds quickly and it's not long before Wally's entire body is twitching.  
  
_''Same on your end, I assume?''_  Artemis says from her side of town.  
  
''Zilch.'' Wally sighs.  
  
Though the heavy feeling of defeat demands his attention, he refuses to acknowledge its presence. Refuses to give up because  _the bastard is out there_. The one responsible for all of this, this downward spiral that has been their lives for months now, is out on free foot and he's got Gotham's most feared in tow. What's worse, if they're unlucky, it's not just him, Joker and Quinn. Wally knows what Two-Face is capable of doing to children.  
  
_''Does he have any... known locations? Any area we could triangulate would be of a tremendous assistance.''_  Kaldur asks.  
  
_''It's the Joker we're talking about''_  Roy quickly shoots down whatever hope the leader managed to build up.  _''There is nothing logical about his actions. We're not exactly gonna find a neat little trail of crumbs''_  


Kid Flash has circled downtown Gotham at least thirty times, and Superboy has been listening closely for any tell-tale sounds. Red Arrow and Aqualad seem to have no further luck in the harbor. Miss Martian's only spotted birds so far in her position in the sky while Artemis turns rocks and corners trying really hard not to mention how much easier this would be with Robin and his computer.  
  
_''Batman has been through most parts we have yet to cover and judging by his constant motion I don't think he's having the best of luck either...''_  M'gann says distractedly, half focused on scanning nearby minds for the smallest bit of information.  
  
Wally swears under his breath and paces around. All the while Conner watches him, eyes cloudy and face unreadable. When Wally finally stops for a moment to catch his breath -- can't dispend too much energy if, no,  _when_ , they find him, he needs to be sharp and needs to be ready, they can  _do this_  -- Superboy puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him a long, somber look.  
  
''We'll find him.'' He says.  
  
Wally only looks at him with a gaze that can't quite seem to focus on any one thing for too long.  
  
''We'll find him'' Conner repeats and squeezes his shoulder lightly before he lets go.  
  
Wally isn't sure how exactly it's possible and maybe he's simply making it up, but the following moment he swears he can feel a gasp run through the mind link. He wonders if the others feel it and is just about to ask, when Miss Martian speaks anew.  
  
_''Uh, team?_ ''  
  
_''Miss Martian, what is it?''_  Aqualad asks and he sounds almost as nervous as Wally feels.  
  
_''I was getting some... really strong sense of shock and worry from a crowd just below me and well, I moved closer and they're all... watching TV screens through a store window... and uh... I'm not sure how to explain this._ ''  
  
''What?'' Wally can't help but snap, and though the guilt moans in his chest he doesn't have the time to acknowledge it right now. Everything secondary to finding the Ornithologist will have to wait.  
  
_''I think you should see this. I -- I'll link you up to my mind and you can see it through my eyes, okay?_ ''  
  
For some reason Wally's heart beats twice as fast.  
  
''Do it.''  


* * *

  
''Hello, citizens of Gotham. I apologize for interrupting your daily medical drama but I have this  _very_  important message to deliver and, well, I'm afraid the person I'd like to speak with doesn't carry a phone with him. So just sit back and relax and it will all be over before you know it.'' The Riddler smiles amiably at the camera, leaning against his cane.  
  
The feed sparks for a moment of imbalance, lines of distortion gliding across the frame until the camera shakes, then returns to a clearer picture. Behind Riddler a studio is visible, with what looks to be a news desk and if they listen closely, a whimper can be heard from somewhere.  
  
''This message goes out to you, Joker, and you better listen because it's a rather important one. Now, you have something of mine that I'd like to regain since you so brutally and quite literally swiped it right under my nose.''  
  
Riddler snaps his fingers and shuffling movements sound from far away, not quite as close to the microphone as him. The taller figure of Two-Face shifts into view and in his grip a woman is held. She doesn't look particularly frightened or hurt, but her mouth is gagged and her arms tied behind her back as Two-Face keeps a brutal grip of her neck and hair.  
  
''This here, I believe, is a friend of your friend. Our mutual friend, if you catch my drift. Now, just a friendly suggestion here but I would think a man as yourself would prefer the entire set as opposed to just the one...'' he gives a shrewd look to the camera. ''Considering your long obsession with  _duos_.'' 

''Listen up, Joker'' Two-Face growls and shoves the Riddler roughly to the side as his mutilated face suddenly takes up most of the frame. ''This broad here is valuable to our pal and whatever you're planning, I think it's in your best interest to come get her.'' He tugs at her hair and her eyes that seemed foggy to begin with, glaze over in quiet pain. ''We don't want her, Joker. This is your one and only chance before I take her outside and put her out of her misery like a sick dog.''  
  
Green gloves push at his shoulder and Two-Face reluctantly steps back, giving the Riddler room to be seen again. He raises a finger in the air, eyeing the camera seriously.  
  
''I'd listen to the man, Joker. He's been itching to kill something all night.''  
  
The Riddler steps back and the camera zooms out slightly to show all three of them, Two-Face's eyes seem to almost vibrate in indignation while the Riddler simply smiles, showing off the gap in his teeth. The girl doesn't move, but she shivers.  
  
''It is as of now...'' Riddler shakes out a watch from his sleeve which hangs loosely on his skinny wrist. ''Four thirty a.m Now, as for the location...''  
  
He rests his arm against the cane once more and gives a look of most intrigue.  
  
''I am the household that requires no housekeeping, for my house is not a house but a cage.''  
  
The footage distorts once more. Two-Face's voice is the last thing the camera records before the entire scene fades to black.  
  
''You have one hour.''

 

* * *

 

 

Picasso is already gasping and writhing in pain and maybe that's just a little bit disappointing because, really, he hasn't even gotten to the battery yet. He's not sure how much longer he can keep this up before it'll bore him and he'll have to get a little bit more unconventional, imaginative, maybe something with sharks or giant Jack-in-the-boxes. Picasso's eyes are rolled back in pain and the sweat glistens beautifully under the bright lamp, his unbroken fingers keep shaking even against the drugs' powerful grip.  
  
Joker wipes some blood off from under the man's eyes and smells it for a moment, never letting him go with his gaze. Harley left the room some time ago, he's not sure when or why, didn't really bother to ask but she seemed very  _un_ amused by the way she looked at him with that little lopsided grin, but never mind that. He was in the middle of something. Oh, yes, right, torture.  
  
Just as he grins comfortingly or maybe just disturbingly -- who could know, anyway, these days? -- and leans over the Artist, the door is slammed open with a loud and panicked bang.  
  
''Mistah J!'' Harley is back and her eyes are wide and urgent. Joker thinks he can hear her loving little heart beat all the way across the room. ''Mistah J, ya gotta see this!''  
  
Joker rolls his eyes and snarls.  
  
''Harley, can't you see I'm  _busy_?''  
  
She hesitates only for a second before strongly shaking her head.  
  
''Sorry, puddin', but this is a show you'll wanna catch.''  


* * *

  
  
''What the hell does that even  _mean_?'' Wally kicks at the ground, not even trying to calm down anymore.  
  
''I am the household that requires no housekeeping...'' Roy repeats the riddle for the millionth time, feeling only further and further away from the answer. ''Like a treatment plant?''  
  
''And that's a cage for what? Water?''  
  
''What if it doesn't even mean anything?'' Conner sighs. ''What if it's just some ruse to throw us off?''  
  
''And throw the Joker off as well? I am doubtful. They seemed eager to meet with him, it would be unwise to do so.'' Kaldur says but despite his confident posture he seems unsure of his own words.  
  
''We've looked at it from each end. The first letters spell gibberish, there's no numerical clue and reading it backwards doesn't exactly help.''  
  
''Could it be an anagram?'' M'gann says with a voice of futility. ''House and household seem to be the keywords here''  
  
''Maybe they're not. Maybe  _they're_  the ruse and what's the real clue is the words in between --''  
  
Artemis is interrupted by Wally's badly stifled outcry. He kicks at the ground again, using more force the second time around as they all turn to look at him in slight concern.  
  
''Rob's good at riddles'' Wally whines, to no one in particular.   
  
Artemis shoves him in the side.  
  
''Robin's not here right now, okay? We have to do this by ourselves!''  
  
''I  _know_  Rob's not here right now!''   
  
Wally can't help but yell at her, despite trying to keep his voice level it rises with every beat of anger, every steady thump of adrenaline and fear leaping through his body.  
  
''Kid'' Kaldur says calmly, but there is a burden to his voice. ''I know that this is... trying, but we must not give up. We can solve this.'' Then he turns to all of them. ''As a team. No matter how incomplete that team may be right now.''  
  
Wally scoffs.  
  
''Look. The word house keeps being repeated several times. Maybe it's not... different kinds of houses, but... I don't know.'' Artemis shrugs. ''Could it be... linguistic?''  
  
''Kinda grasping at straws there'' Conner remarks.  
  
''Yeah, well, new's flash, Superboy, right now straws are all we've got.''  
  
''No, no'' Wally says. ''There could be something to it.''  
  
The two share a look, the speedster seeking comfort in everything he can and Artemis not one to deny him. She takes a deep breath and tries to make her voice sound much more confident when she speaks again. They have to keep up hope, have to keep  _trying_.  
  
''Okay, anyone good at languages here?''  
  
''Robin'' The others say in unison.  
  
''Yeah, okay, great, but somebody who can  _help_  us. Conner? Did they teach you anything at Cadmus we could use?'' 

''French.'' Conner and Wally blurt at the same time, sharing a wide eyed look of realization as the latter smacks his head.  
  
''Hel _lo_ , Wally!''  
  
The others give them strange looks.  
  
''French?''  
  
''Yes! French for household --'' Wally says and as he speaks his voice is lighter, faster, because this time he thinks they're finally on to something.  
  
''-- is  _ménage_ '' Superboy continues the exact same train of thought.  
  
''And it's also the word for housekeeping --''  
  
'' -- and as a verb _ménager_ means to keep house, or, cleaning --''  
  
'' -- and a word derived from _ménager_ is _ménagerie_ \--''  
  
''Which was a collection of wild animals. A successor of the modern zoological garden.'' Roy chimes in. ''A house that is a cage. He's talking about the Gotham Botanical Garden.''  
  
''Which, besides flowers such as the Primulaceae, also known as the  _Primrose family_  --''  
  
'' -- also contains animals and insects such as butterflies and birds.'' Artemis says with the same breathless voice of realization.  
  
''They don't happen to have robins there, by any chance?'' Superboy says more as a joke than an actual question, but Artemis answers it anyway.  
  
''European and American breeds. Guys. I think we solved it!''  
  
Wally can't help but let out a relieved and, maybe a bit crazy sounding, laugh as he places his hands at the back of his head and finally breathes.  
  
''We  _solved_  it.''  
  
''Let's hope the Joker didn't. Yet.''  
  
''Or Batman.'' Roy mutters.  
  
''Oh, crap, I forgot about him! We better hurry or he's gonna get all the action!''   
  
''Wally, wait!''  
  
But it is too late to stop him. Wally has already left the roof and before the yellow and red streak disappears down the street, they have already begun to follow.  


* * *

  
  
His breath stops the moment he hears the footsteps. They come out of nowhere, like a ghost he only notices them when it's already too late. Dick doesn't turn around when the steps halt, just stands tensely waiting with his chest a rigid trap.  
  
''Master Wallace was pulled away for an emergency mission'' the butler's voice is steady, but it churns in his ears with a gentle mourning. ''He is very sorry and tells you not to worry, and that he will return as soon as he possibly can.''  
  
The boy's insides putter in malevolent jealousy. It feels silly, because he's not in the mood to put on his toed boots and head out into the battlefield, not now of all moments. But even though he doesn't want to go out there, it aches bitterly that Wally still has to. That he still  _can_  while Dick is left behind in some alternate reality, separate from that of his comrades. He bites his lip and remains silent; his jaws have clasped down impossibly tight and even if he had the tiniest inkling of what to say, he doubts he'd have the power.  
  
''Do you require any assistance, master Dick?''  
  
Alfred speaks softly. Another time he'd have found it comforting, but now it only makes his knees shake and Dick silently prays for the older man to leave.  
  
''No'' he says hoarsely.  
  
Alfred looks at his back for a moment before taking the required steps to get by the boy's side. Well there he casts a glance at the washing machine which is already whirring from the work, at the hamper containing only a blue duvet cover crumpled into a mess by small, panicked hands. He sees the spilled detergent powder on the floor and wordlessly picks up the box to inspect it. The amount is much less than how he remembers it, and if it's because the boy has really been doing that much laundry or if he's just been overusing the detergent itself, he does not want to consider.  
  
''Did you remember what I told you about measurements?''  
  
Dick blinks at him perplexedly for a little while before his feet become extraordinarily interesting.  
  
''Uhm...'' he mumbles quietly. ''I... Not sure.''  
  
Alfred puts the detergent down.  
  
''Master Richard, you do know you have the machine on 'fine linen and nylon' and that these sheets are pure cotton?''  
  
Dick remains fully engrossed in the nature of his socks and doesn't answer.   
  
''I guess we'll have to go over the routine once more'' 

''Sorry.'' The boy says dejectedly, and if Alfred dared he would have patted his shoulder, much like he used to do in the past whenever the laundry room lessons seemed to pass right through the boy's head.  
  
Dick silently wishes that just once in his damn life he could do something right.  
  
''You learn faster than master Bruce did.'' The butler says as he terminates the washing cycle. ''He ruined so many shirts I sometimes wondered if he had taken up a new quest of vengeance against Egyptian cotton.''  
  
''How long have you known?'' Dick says very quietly.  
  
Alfred regards him for a small moment.  
  
''Since the beginning.''  
  
''Does... Does Bruce know?''  
  
''No.'' The boy deflates by the weight of the relieved breath that escapes him. Alfred feels almost cruel when he resumes speaking. ''However, I think someone else needs to.''  
  
Dick doesn't answer, just shrinks into his shoulders in hope that it'll let him escape from the moment altogether. Without a word Alfred picks up the detergent again and pulls out the little tray in which to put it, glancing at the boy over his shoulder.   
  
''Come watch, master Richard, and I'll show you how to measure.''  
  
Dick gives him a searching look, as if scanning for any signs of danger. Alfred just keeps looking at him in warm patience, like it was normal for two people to stand around a laundry room half past who knew when in the morning. The elephant in the room stood nearby watching, but it seems less imposing the more time goes on.  
  
''Too much will make the fabric itchy and in some cases, might overflow, whereas too little...'' Alfred continues, unbothered by its presence. ''Well, I suppose you can figure that out.''  
  
While Alfred shows him how to measure properly and Dick tries hard to focus on his words, the hungry gnashing of his panic turns more into a faint little nibble.  


 

* * *

  
  
''Your girlfriend is in trouble'' Joker's voice carries through a black smog of pain and nausea and he thinks he must have blacked out again. When the man becomes more than just a blurry shape his face looks curious.  
  
The Artist tries to speak mostly to remind the clown that his mouth is gagged, more than an actual attempt at communicating; even so he's not sure his words would come out any less nonsensical had he been free of his restraints, as his brain is reduced to a dull aching through which few thoughts gain passage.  
  
''Oh, right, silly me!'' the Joker smacks his own head before he pulls the gag down. ''Now, as I said, your girlfriend, Cauliflower or something --''  
  
''Pr - prim''   
  
''Yes, yes, sure'' The Joker waves his hand dismissively. ''Anywhooo, it seems some old -- colleagues I guess you could say, men of the trade -- have gotten cozy with her.''  
  
The man blinks to clear his vision and collect his mind into something useful, it seems to help a little as his words come out less of a slur next time around.  
  
''They... they have... Primmy..?''  
  
''Not for long though. Seems your playmate isn't much fun to be around, as they're demanding I pick her up within the hour. That reminds me, what time is it?''   
  
Joker twists his head around to look for a clock, but the walls are as bare as they are dirty.  
  
''G-get... her''  
  
''Now why, Picasso dear, would I do that? Hmm? What have  _you_  done for me lately?'' The absurd thing is how serious he looks when he asks it. ''You can't just take, take, take, you know. Gotta give a lil' something, too! That's how stable relationships work!''  
  
The Artist rolls his head tiredly to the side, fingers twitching in still pain and chest heaving ragged breaths through his body. 

''S-she can heal.'' He wheezes heavily. ''We could... Could do this... forever and  _how_ ever.'' He takes a long pause to catch his breath, swallows the blood and closes his eyes tightly to speak through the pain. ''Without her... the torture of... of Robin would not... have lasted that long or b-been that...'' He forces a tight smile. ''... fun.''  
  
Joker regards him for a long, quiet moment, his face tells him nothing as those dark eyes dart back and forth in consideration. The Artist coughs and struggles against his injuries, his movements jarred in a way that reminds Joker of a broken wind-up-toy. After what seems like the longest of moments, the Joker shrugs.  
  
''Well, why not?'' He laughs. ''Who knows, the Bat might even be there!''  
  
With a big smile he claps his hands together and swirls around to look at Harley.  
  
''Harley, get the car! We're going to a party!''  


* * *

 

  
  
''Do you think he'll get it? Hell, do  _you_  get it?'' Two-Face leans against a wall, standing nearby a swirling group of yellow butterflies. He watches them idly out of the corner of his eye while playing with the coin in one hand, a gun in the other.  
  
''Mm, maybe I overestimate my enemies'' Riddler strokes his chin and peers at the other over his shoulder. ''But I couldn't make it too easy. We've got Batman to think about.''  
  
''If the Bat is dumb enough to show, I'll handle him.''  
  
''Yes, because you have proven so talented at that task in the past.''  
  
Two-Face narrows his eyes.  
  
''I could demonstrate on ya, if it'd calm your nerves''  
  
The threat bounces off the other, and Riddler does his best not to look at the automatic rifle leaning just as casually as its owner against the wall.  
  
''Just make sure you get the Joker and his gal pal before they get us. And Harvey?''  
  
The coin makes a slight ping-sound as it drops through the air and he catches it with a rough slam, closing his fist around the object until his knuckles turn white.  
  
''What?''  
  
''Do try to keep in mind that we need the Ornithologist alive.''  
  
Harvey snorts.  
  
''Ain't makin' any promises''  
  
Riddler rolls his eyes. He taps his cane once, twice, waits for the sparking to do its little song before the line opens.  
  
''Catwoman? How are things on your end?''  
  
_''Oh, just a fine Chardonnay short of purrrrfect._ ''  
  
''No trouble outside?''  
  
'' _Empty as the nursing homes on bingo night._ ''  
  
Riddler smiles.  
  
''Splendid.''  
  
_''How're you boys holding up?''_  Her voice is honestly curious, though he feels vengeance through her words.  _''Any sight of them?''_  
  
''No'' Riddler sighs as if disappointed, a boy at a party without guests. ''Not yet. But they still have a good forty minutes to go.''  
  
_''Alright. Let me know if something happens. And Riddler, try not to rough her up too much, alright? She's just a kid.''_  
  
''My, my, Ms. Kyle. Do I detect a slight hint of concern?''  
  
_''Keep your head on, Riddler. You'll need it._ ''  
  
Riddler chuckles.  
  
''I will, Catwoman. Riddler out.''  
  
_''Good luck.''_  
  
He spins around on the sole of one foot and with his hands on his hips, he purses his lips and lets his eyes fall on his colleague.  
  
''What do we do if they don't come?'' Two-Face says.  
  
Riddler shrugs. He hasn't liked to think about that, but his mind is, if brilliant, also unkind. Ten back-up plans churn in the back of his head, though none of them guarantee success.  
  
''Then we'll simply have to get creative.''


	20. Chapter 20

Kaldur gives the signal, a two-finger, quick paced motion of the hand, and M'gann slides into the air under camouflage. It is a majestic, glass dome shaped giant of a thing; three wings branching off to the East, South and North sides and a parking lot the size of a modest mall. The building itself is surrounded by large skyscrapers, office buildings, and far off in the distance one can see the outline of the bridge. The night still lies dark and consuming across the city, which despite its brave attempts to stave it off with many city lights, feels suffocating.

M'gann hovers to the very top of the roof and remains an outlook, a security net, in case something should go wrong for those on the ground. Wally is the next to go at the signal; he heads in from the North, the main entrance, which like a giant welcome sign has already had its alarms disabled -- by Two-Face and the Riddler, most probably -- and stands open like a hungry mouth.

Superboy remains hidden outside, just in case one of them is prowling around. Red Arrow, Artemis and Aqualad follow the path Wally has previously taken.

It takes him little under a minute to search through the South wing, which hosts only the souvenir shop and cafeteria. The East Wing proves more of a challenge, as it is much larger and much more disorientating with the many sounds of insects. The glass cages make it so he doesn't dare use as much of his speed, just in case he gets confused.

Reporting his findings -- or rather, lack of such -- to the others through the mind link he heads for the North Wing. By now Wally, and the others, suspect that they're most probably in the center dome, ''the Crown'', but it never hurts to rule out other spaces. Someone could be waiting in ambush, and it’s best to find out on purpose rather than accident. 

_''It's clear, guys. No goons, no baddies in arms as far as I can see. Just lots of butterflies and parrots.''_ Wally says over the link as he joins the others.

_''Then that leaves the middle.''_  Roy says and shares a look with Kaldur.

_''Yes. Kid, you and Red Arrow take the South entrance and Artemis and I will take the other. Notify me if anything at all should happen and remain inconspicuous for as long as possible. We do not want to draw attention to ourselves just yet.''_

Wally salutes him with a half-hearted grin before grabbing Red Arrow's arm and speeding off. Kaldur has half a mind reminding him of what he said just barely a second ago, but cannot muster the energy. He nods at Artemis, who nods back, and the two head inside the second of the Crown's entrances.

_''Miss Martian, Superboy, have you observed anyone?''_

_''Negative''_ M'gann replies. 

_''Same.''_

_''There's too many trees, I - I can barely make out the paths in there. I tried searching for their minds but there are literally thousands of creatures in there, it's going to take a while to filter out the non-humans.''_

She sounds guilty, as if she has let them down, so Kaldur makes sure to feel reassuring when he responds.

_''You are doing well. Remain in touch.''_

_''Yes, sir!''_

Superboy merely grunts over the link. Aqualad motions for Artemis to keep moving.

_''Kid Flash? Red Arrow?''_

_''It's a jungle''_  The speedster attempts to make a joke, but he is far too tense to put much effort into it.

He is correct, though. Inside the gates of the Crown, nothing is caged. Every bird flies free, or dozes peacefully on the many branches, amongst the many trees, shrubs and colorful flowers. It is humid and warm, but they shake off the discomfort of hair plastering against their skin and fabric clinging to their backs. Keep walking, keep looking and listening for any kind of movement. But just as Miss Martian has trouble filtering, so do they find it difficult to discern what inside the mess of nocturnal animals' shrieking and singing is human, which movement is made of claws and wings instead of human feet.

The lights are on, which means someone is already there. Where they are, on the other hand, isn't quite as easy to figure out. Everything seems calm besides the wildlife, but something feels wrong. A metallic sound, almost like a ringing, bounces between trunks and rocks, making it hard to determine its source. Artemis pulls out an arrow as she prowls closer in the shadows. The others carry the same thought, and with tense steps they dare to scurry closer to the center of the room, hoping the sounds of the birds is enough to drown out their frantic hearts.

''Thirty minutes, Riddler. If the Bat's taking this long, how much more time do you think they'll need?''

The voice can only be Two-Face's and suddenly the situation dawns on them.

Every time they go on missions – either with the team or their mentors – they feel much less nervous about the villains, but these are Gotham villains. They’re ruthless. Worse than that, they have very little -- if anything -- to lose. They all try to calm themselves with logic, try to remember that they've battled people in far higher power; they've done this gig a hundred times already but it is still hard to keep breathing evenly. 

They are just two mortal men. Powerless, too. But mad men, nonetheless.

''Will you relax?'' the Riddler's voice chimes. ''They'll come.''

The team inches closer, slowly, but they seem to have the time to be careful. When given, that chance should always be taken.

''We should have set some sort of alarm or something, in case they ambush.''

''Since when does the Joker do subtlety?''

''I'm not worried about the Joker.''

A deep silence lies above the room. It seems as if even the animals sense it, for a second there it's almost like the chirpings and screeches have stopped. But they pick up to a chorus just as soon, and the volume rises to a point where it becomes physically painful.

_''Something's -- ''_

_''-- Wrong''_

Wally isn't sure who spoke over the link. He thinks someone might have shouted ''move'' too, but it drowns in the deafening roar of an explosion. Thick, heavy glass shatters in a symphony of sharp ringing and Wally doesn't know but he thinks it might be him that shouts next.

_''Everybody take cover!''_

Glass rains down on them and it is impossible to see anything through the smoke. The Riddler shrieks and next thing they know, Two-Face is firing blindly at the ceiling.

A laugh trickles through, slowly at first. Wally's heart, all their hearts, jerk in a synchronized motion as for the smallest of seconds, it sounds like Robin.

But the laugh quickly expands. Fills the room until it feels as if it's pushing against the very walls, and for a while they fear that they will also shatter. The laugh swells and grows louder, more maniacal, more blood-curdling as it rises in volume and amusement.

''Heeere's Joker!'' His voice putters, scrapes like hot iron against their ears.

_''Stay focused and keep hidden''_ Kaldur whispers over the link even though it's unnecessary to. 

''I can't see shit'' Red Arrow growls, and before anyone can do much of anything about it, he's already moving closer.

Using the remaining smoke as cover, the others mutely do the same. Almost too close, they stop themselves just in time to see most of the rogues, but hopefully not close enough for themselves to be seen.

The Joker trots over to the Riddler in a mild-mannered pace, the grin on his face stretching wider than what should be humanly possible. But they suppose there is little about him to be called human, anymore.

''Hi there, gang! Sorry I'm late for the party, but the invitation was somewhat messy.'' He salutes them with a low cackle ''Speaking of messy, where's my present?''

 

* * *

 

  
''My, my''

Superboy hears her movements but is too late to pinpoint them; the finest stretch of her muscles hits his ears but it does little good as she is much faster than his senses. Catwoman has leapt out of nowhere and though her kick isn't inhumanly strong, the surprise alone is enough to throw him off balance. Conner stumbles backwards and has barely the time to open his eyes and figure out what the hell is going on when Selina's heel makes contact with his jaw.

''You know'' she purrs ''For a super boy you're very disappointing to play with''

Conner doesn't respond with words, instead gives a glare and a roar as he throws himself her way. Catwoman shakes her head and easily evades him with a playful smile. Conner tries to remember what Canary taught him, about strength and size not doing any good unless you get a technique in, but Catwoman moves much differently from their den mother; she is lithe, slippery and very, very flexible, and when he thinks he's about to land a punch she's cartwheeled away from him, backflipped out of his range or slipped past under him. Like she's just toying with him. It's a frustrating amount of time that passes before Conner realizes she's not trying to fight him, but distract him.

''What's the matter, Superboy?'' she swooshes past his head in a way that reminds him of someone. ''Afraid to hit a girl?''

The lines on his forehead increase rapidly as Conner clenches his fists.

''If you were seriously trying to fight me --''

His jab is interrupted by another swift kick and Conner is getting more than just a little annoyed. He stops moving, stops trying to adapt to her pattern. When the next kick comes, he manages to grab her ankle and throw her against the ground. Catwoman hisses in pain as she rolls back onto her feet, rubbing at her back with a chastising sort of glare sent his way.

''Playtime's over'' Superboy says. Selina can't help but laugh.

''That's a great one-liner. Did the big blue teach you that?''

She can almost hear the restraint within him snap, and when he throws himself at her again, screaming louder, heart beating wilder, she's not very surprised. Using the fresh, burning rage to her advantage, she easily evades his attack and trips him. Superboy falls to the hard asphalt, too slow to react to dampen the fall. Catwoman chuckles slightly under her breath as she watches him rise.

''Touch a nerve there, didn't I?''

He glares and his fists tremble, but he makes no move to attack. Selina places a hand on her hip and gives him a peculiar look, still smiling for some reason.

''Listen, Superboy. I'm not your enemy. As much fun as it is roughing up Robin's little play mates, I do have more important things to do, so could we wrap this up?''

''What are you doing here?'' Conner’s voice gets caught between a growl and a yell.

''Same thing as you, darling. I'm just looking out for a friend.''

''By helping criminals escape?'' Conner wildly gestures towards the glass dome far behind them, rage pulsating through his veins so hard his body shakes.

''It's all part of the bigger scheme. Never settle for less, I always say.''

''Do you know what she did? If you're so concerned with helping Robin, then maybe breaking out the people responsible for hurting him isn't the best way to go'' 

Selina interrupts his loud accusations with a voice only half the volume but twice the rage.

''Oh, I know very well what she did. Don't stand there yelling like some little child accusing me of things you know nothing about. Robin's got friends in high places, but like you they haven't done a hell of a lot of good.'' She fixates him with a glare so strong his anger loses momentum. ''I'm not here to hurt him, Superboy.''

Conner regards her tensely for a far longer moment than he really has the patience for. 

''I think we could actually work together.'' She says.  
  
Superboy eyes her thinly, but there's an honesty to her he can't quite ignore. It nags and pinches at his mind, and though he may not have the best of instincts, he dares to trust them on this one.

''I'm listening.'' 

 

* * *

 

 

''Easy there, clown'' Two-Face steps forward, frame towering threateningly as the smoke slithers around his ankles. He brushes some dust off his sleeves. ''No need to rush the party, ya just got here''

Joker's face sours in an instant, like with the snap of a finger his entire persona is changed. Like a set of clothes he slips out of his glee and instead into the murderer, the cold blooded madman as seen on TV.

''I'd love to stay, but I have things to do, people to dissect. You know, the same old song and dance.''

Two-Face raises the gun with one quick, fluid movement. A tense silence lingers for a moment before it is broken by the Joker's laugh.

''Something funny?''

Joker's laugh rises, so loud that it becomes everything.

''Did you think I wouldn't bring my plus one?''

Two-Face quirks one corner of his mouth.

''I was hoping you would.''

It feels as if the air has been sucked out of the room, the tension rebuilding and quickly thickening, though it's only Harvey who makes a slight twitch of surprise as another set of feet scuffle closer. He spins around quickly and has his gun steadily aimed at the Riddler.

''Harvey, don't be rude to your guest'' Riddler shakes his head in disapproval as he pushes Primrose before him, arms bound mostly for show than any real necessity. 

''Oooh, just what I always wanted!'' Joker claps his hands together before his voice takes a nosedive into a dark, raspy territory as he extends his arm. ''Give it here!''

Riddler purses his lips as if he's thinking it over, then theatrically shakes his head.

''Now, you and I both know nothing is for free.''

Joker rolls his eyes.

''Don't be a spoilsport! What do you want, Nygma?''

''Your friend.'' Riddler holds him with an adamant stare. ''I think we'd like some time with him, too''

''Or why don't I just cut you down and take her and keep my friend? Hmm?''

The gun makes a sound as Two-Face, for purely demonstrative purposes, locks and unlocks the safety. Joker only looks at it with mild boredom.

''Do and you're dead'' Two-Face says.

There is that god awful laugh again and Joker wipes a tear from his eye.

''Oh, you boys are the best, do I ever tell you that?'' He shakes his head, then looks to them with dark, burning eyes. ''I think it's time I introduced you to my friends.''

He snaps his fingers and out of the sky comes several gun wielding, mask wearing men. Chaos ensues quickly and before anyone has time to even think, the room is already being turned upside down.

_''Now?''_ Red Arrow looks at Aqualad, and the others follow suite.

Aqualad watches the scene unfold; Two-Face picking up the rifle and shooting blindly, birds shrieking, their bodies falling limply as feathers scatter among rocks and roots, Riddler looking desperately for an escape, shaking his cane wildly. He looks to Primrose, who seems unfazed, and then at Joker, who can't seem to stop laughing. 

Then he nods.

_''Now''_

M'gann lifts Primrose into the air, still in camouflage as the bullets rain around not just from Two-Face's rifle, but from the henchmen of Joker's as well. Kid Flash grabs a handful of guns, already disassembled when they hit the ground, while Red Arrow takes care of the now gunless henchmen with some well-aimed net arrows.

Artemis takes out the other gunmen and Kaldur takes it upon himself to disarm Two-Face; a task not as easy as he had previously thought. The man's hand to hand combat skills are worse than his own, but that is to be expected, Kaldur's training has been extensive and tough. Despite this, Two-Face is not one to go down without a fight, and even without his gun he manages to hold his own a bit longer than Aqualad would have preferred. 

He is, eventually, subdued, as Kaldur finally hits him with his water bearers, knocking him off his feet with one smooth swing. The stream of water hits him in the chest, throwing him through a set of large shrubs where he remains still. Kaldur makes sure to bind him thoroughly before he dares to leave his side. 

When he's finished he makes an attempt to contact Superboy, but neither comlink nor mindlink proves fruitful. M'gann is just about to look for him, when the clone crashes through the roof, creating an entirely new hole in the process. He lands on one henchman, effectively knocking down several others, voice a loud howl as he tears through the last few men standing. 

Meanwhile, the Riddler is tiptoeing his way out of the room and has gained quite the distance, the pure noise of the fight proving an excellent cover. He's just about to slide into one of the hallways when an arrow blocks his path; Riddler stares down the tip of a nasty looking arrow, glimmering green under the dim night lights as Artemis tightens the bowstring.

''And where do you think you're going?''

Riddler laughs nervously as he tries and fails to discreetly tap his cane. Artemis glances briefly towards the item, suspicion marking her face.

''You've been doing that a lot. What's it for? A bomb?''

Riddler laughs genuinely this time.

''No, no, I've had quite enough of bombs lately. No, this is... ah, never mind. Here she is.''

Artemis only has time to cock a brow before the whip closes around her throat, cutting off all air and dragging her backwards; her skin burns with blaring pain as it rubs against the leather, caught in little twisting creases as the grip tightens, pinching her skin nearly blue.

''What'd I miss?'' Catwoman says, and Riddler smirks.

''Oh, just a few party crashers.'' 

As if to illustrate his words, a loud crash accompanied by pained howling follows. Artemis struggles against the whip but is becoming weaker; Catwoman gives her a quick glance before she glares at Riddler.

''You head out of here. I'll get the tracker on him.''

Nygma looks warily at the archer, who is turning remarkably purple, but one loud noise of pain from behind them is enough to kick his survival instincts into gear.

''Good luck, Ms. Kyle! I hope you won't be needing it''

Catwoman clicks her tongue in response and before she knows it he's gone. For having such little muscle, he moves incredibly fast in times of need. When he's finally disappeared, Selina releases the girl from the whip and despite barely being able to stand straight, Artemis tries to take a swing. Selina holds her hands up, hoping she looks non-threatening enough, but between the gasps and the coughs, Artemis seems only a shortage of air away from ripping her head off.

''Relax, girl'' Catwoman speaks softly while Artemis regains herself, slowly but steadily. ''I'm sorry about that, but the show was necessary''

Artemis makes another attempt at harm, but is still not steady enough to land a hit. 

''Calm down! We're on the same team!''

Artemis draws a sharp gasp of air.

''Why should I trust you?''

''Well, for one, your windpipe is still intact.'' Artemis glares, but seems unable to retort. ''Plus, if I wanted to really harm you, I would've done so instead of waiting for you to catch your breath''

The archer shifts her hard eyes to the whip but realizes she has a point. Artemis still feels weary, and when Selina holds her bow out for her, she makes sure to snatch it back a bit more violently than necessary.

''What tracker?'' She says then.

Catwoman picks up a small device, balancing it gently on her index finger. It's round and metallic, with a little light so small it could pass for imagination, blinking a steady pace.

''This goes on the Joker, the Joker runs home to his friends and we have the cat in the bag. So to speak.''

Artemis gives her a searching look.

''I'll do it.''

''No offense, sweetheart, but I've seen you fight. I think this requires a bit more finesse.'' 

Artemis can't tell if she's deliberately trying to insult her or is just being cautious, she can't say she knows the woman very well and the vibes she's sending off make her uncomfortable; she's hot and cold and unpredictable, and the last thing Artemis wants to do is trust her.

''When did you see me --''

''A woman knows these things. Now, what say you we stop the chit chat and get to work?''

The blonde takes a deep breath and though her throat pains like nothing she's ever experienced, she feels good enough to keep going. 

''Try to keep up.''

Selina just rolls her eyes as the girl half-jogs away, but follows her with a grin. Not that there's much to return to; Superboy has already plowed through Joker's henchmen, and Two-Face is under restraints, while the team is advancing upon the Joker. The man has a switchblade out, which brings back memories of their first encounter with him together as a team; it had been a simpler time, more dangerous, but better in a way. Still, they try not to think about that and instead focus on the job.

Superboy sends them the plan through the mindlink, and though suspicion rises, the arguments are few. They don't have time for second-guessing, anyway.

Everything after that moves as a well oiled machine; short commands go through the mind link, and sometimes only an emotion needs to slip through for everyone to know their next move. Artemis and Roy release smoke arrows, and the Joker waves and coughs and laughs and jeers at them through the cloud.

''What a gas, huh? I've got a trick like that of my own, you guys wanna see?''

''No thanks, seen enough'' Kid Flash blurts out as he grabs the knife and disappears.

The others launch attacks not meant to hit as much as distract; while Joker is busy fending them off, Kid flash leaps through the air and hits him with a dropkick. Joker spits blood, lets it gush out of his mouth and splatter against his suit, while he picks up a shard of glass from the ground and lunges at the boy. Though Wally is too quick, and as he evades, the Joker isn't prepared for Catwoman's attack. 

She sails in from the corner of his eye and as she lunges one fist forward, he doesn't even notice the other pressing the tracker behind his ear. She tops it off with one hard kick to the stomach, which knocks him off his feet and the pain is enough to take his mind off of most things around him. The Joker giggles, as it is all he can do, his chest a vaccuum of pain while he squirms on the ground. 

''That was... easy'' Artemis says and is immediately met by strange looks.

''I wouldn't call that easy'' Wally makes a meaning nod towards the broken glass, strewn bodies, disassembled guns, torn up roots, dead birds and numerous blood splatters littering the ground. ''Regular day at the job, sure, but easy? I nearly got stabbed like, four times''

Kaldur's eyes are narrow and of little faith, something which worries all of them.

''No, she's right.'' Catwoman says and casts a glance around. ''All the bad guys are out and not one of us is badly injured, and this is a surprisingly small amount of collateral damage.''

''Agreed.'' Kaldur crouches on the ground, picking up a shell casing. ''This was far too easy.''

Then he hitches in his movements. His mouth forms a thin line.

Roy is the first to notice his tension. ''What's wrong?''

''This ammunition, it is...'' Kaldur meets his eyes and Roy already knows. ''They have been firing blanks.''

''So?'' Conner says. ''You said the Joker's illogical. Besides, maybe they just didn't want to risk killing Primrose.''

Joker just laughs, legs twitching as his body still aches. He presses his face against the ground, dust stirring with his labored breathing.

''Stop that!'' Wally towers above him, foot pressed against his back. ''What's going on, Joker? What are you planning?''

Joker doesn't reply, can't, because this is all too funny. Wally presses down a little harder.

''I  _said_ : what are you planning?!''

''Oh, oh, you kids'' Joker snorts and coughs as the dust sucks into his nose, and the blood sprays onto the dirt beneath him. ''Did you think your uncle Joker would attend a party and not bring a surprise for you?''

''What are you --''

''Get your dirty shoe off of him!'' 

The new voice half chimes, half growls, from above and as they all look up, the first thing to greet them is the barrel of a strange looking weapon, so large Harley Quinn has to balance it against her shoulder, dangling slightly on the rope.

''Harl! Fashionably late as always!'' Joker says, then growls into the ground. ''Wouldn't have hurt if you'd been a little more punctual.''

''Hiya, puddin'. Wanna blow this fest?''

''I'd love to, Harl, but I'm a little... wrapped up'' And he laughs again, as if there was never any end to his glee. Like a cockroach, it would just keep on living long after everything else had died.

Harley points the gun in her arms toward them with a protective glare and the team is overcome with the sudden dread of stepping between a bear and her cubs. Kaldur isn't sure what the gun is, but the canister at its end does not give him the best of feelings.

''Step back, kiddies, I'm warning ya''

Kaldur glances at Roy, if his tight face is any indication, the last thing they want is for her to fire the weapon. 

''Team, fall back'' Kaldur says.

''What!?'' Conner glares at him, quick to play along. ''Are you serious?''

''Superboy''

''We have them in our -- ''

''Fall. Back.''

The clone makes a face as if he wants to argue, then steps back and does as he is told. The others, looking just as reluctant, mirror his action. Harley smiles widely and behind her on separate ropes, four henchmen drop towards the ground and skitter towards the Joker. Harley looks upwards at Primrose, still floating in the air, and M'gann isn't sure what to do as the gun doesn't leave her teammates' direction.

''Now, whoever's behind the magic levitation trick, better lower the girl or I'm firing this baby off.''

M'gann sends out a questioning touch through the mind link. Kaldur doesn't look at her, but squeezes reassuringly back. Still hidden, still silent, M'gann swallows the sense that she's offering a lamb up to butchers and lowers Primrose gently to the ground.

'' _Guys_ '' Wally says over the mind link, throwing glances out of the corner of his eyes.  _''I can do it. I can take the gun from her before --''_

_''No, Kid.''_  Aqualad replies. _''Remember the plan.''_

_''But what if she fires it? That could be Joker venom and --''_

_''Kid, do you trust me?''_

Wally sends him a brief glance. He swallows.

_''Yeah. I trust you.''_

_''Then stand still.''_

During their conversation, the Joker has already been hoisted up by two henchmen, blood falling down his face, splattering by their feet. 

''Thanks, hun'' Harley waves a little and the henchmen gather Primrose and begin their ascension.

The sudden sound of sirens blares through gentle as a stampeding herd, sending blue and red lights bouncing off the glass walls. 

''Oops!'' She grabs a hold of her own rope, and as it pulls up by unseen hands, she gives them a wink and throws them a kiss. ''Gotta go, kids! It's been fun, but this party is gonna get crowded. Bye bye, now!''

The group disappears, a wild laugh echoing in their trail before they are out of sight. The team stands still and waiting, the sound of footsteps stomping towards them growing stronger. Catwoman gives them a semi-apologetic look.

''I hope you understand this is my cue to go.''

''Yeah, right, and leave you with the tracking device?'' Artemis has her bow loaded and aimed before the cat burglar has the time to react. ''Don't think so.''

Catwoman smiles.

''We'll rendesvouz shortly, but if I don't get out of here, things might get tricky for me, and then neither of us will have the tracking device.''

''My dad always said that innocent people don't run. For once, I'm inclined to believe him.'' 

Selina sighs while the footsteps get louder, voices soon carrying through. She turns towards Wally instead, and the speedster can't fight the feeling that he's expected to do something.

''I want the same as you. Robin trusts me, so why can't you?''

No one knows what to say. The air is heavy, not just with the smoke and the dust and the smell of blood, but the oppressing weight of regrets and vindication. Of doubt and fear, and the small, fluttering will to hope. Kaldur takes it upon himself to speak, as it is his role to lead when others don’t know where to go.

''Catwoman has the tracking device. Miss Martian will call for you, and we will arrange a meeting point. We will pursue the Joker together.''

''Sounds good enough for me'' She turns back to Artemis, her eyes challenging. ''That alright with you, Green Arowette?''

Artemis glares, eyes narrowing, but she lowers her bow.

''I'll see you later. Stay out of trouble now'' Catwoman gives a little wink, before she runs towards the same exit Riddler had used, and disappears. 

Policemens' orders are clearer to them now, just around the corner, and the steps are hurried and threatening. Miss Martian comes out of camouflage mode, floating down to the ground as she pulls the hood off her head.

''Who called the police?'' She says and looks around.

''Well, the explosion was kind of, you know, audible'' Wally shrugs. ''Probably some good samaritan.''

Artemis snorts, rolling her eyes, but before Wally can properly give her a foul look, a dark, familiar voice breaks through. 

''I called them here.''

In the shadows, as would be expected, Gotham's Dark Knight peers at them. His face is unreadable, and M'gann can't help but shiver. Seeing him in his natural element, knowing they've treaded into his territory, they all shrink a little.

''How long have you been standing there?!'' Wally says a bit shriller than he intended.

''A while'' He pauses, then adds ''Long before you arrived.''

''Oh, and you felt like helping _when_ , exactly?''

Batman's face darkens even as he steps into the light, and Wally almost regrets his words.

''If I needed to, I would have stepped in.''

''Well, gee, thanks for the vote of confidence'' Conner adds, earning a glare, but not letting it frighten him. ''Were you just going to stand there and let them leave?''

''No, it seems you have that plan under control.''

Conner's eyes widen in anger. M'gann puts a comforting hand on his shoulder but the clone finds himself unable to respond. Batman sighs almost inaudibly, before he turns to Aqualad.

''You were planning the same as us all along.'' Kaldur says, realization in his eyes. ''You already knew of our presence.''

''Yes.''

''And you are not... angry with us? For trespassing?''

Batman shakes his head slightly.

''We have more important matters to attend. You did well, but I'll take it from here.''

Artemis blinks, unsure if she’s heard right.

''I'm sorry, what?''

''I'm going after him. I can lock onto the signal of the tracker you placed and you can all go ho—''

''No, no, no, no!'' Artemis shakes her head. ''No, you're not kicking us out! Not now!''

''For once, I'm agreeing with Artemis'' Wally stands by her side, arms crossed as he tries to look more confident than he feels. 

Batman gives them a look they can't decipher but know they don't like.

''Yeah'' Conner says. ''We're going after him. Together.''

Batman draws a breath through his nose and they're not sure, but it seems as if his eyebrow is twitching. Though he doesn't have time to speak, before the police come stomping into the room, guns already aimed and ready to fire.

''Freeze! This is the poli -- Oh. It's you'' Gordon holds his hand up. ''Stand down, boys. Seems we're late to the dance. Again.''

A tinge of bitterness follows his voice, but he seems just a tiny bit relieved.

''Officer Gordon'' Batman says and the team nods in greeting.

Gordon takes a look at the chaos and ruins, sighs, scratches his neck and sighs again.

''Will you grace me with an explanation before you disappear?''

''I have to go, but the team will fill you in.''

Said team sends him collective looks of mixed incredulity.

''What did we just say?!'' Wally doesn't bother not-shrieking this time.

Along with Conner and the two archers, Wally starts a one-sided argument with Batman, who responds in only silence and stern glares. Jim tunes them out as his phone rings. Barely glancing at the screen, he picks it up.

''Commissioner Gordon speaking'' he sighs, already tired. ''I'm -- what? No, no, you must be –''

The argument silences and the heroes turn to look at him, a cold, choking fear suddenly settling amongst them.

''This... alright... I...'' Jim absentmindedly loosens his tie, for some reason in desperate need of air. ''Jesus, are you sure?'' There is a long pause during which his face gets only paler. ''Alright.'' He breathes, shakily. ''Alright. I'll be there.''

The commissioner hangs up, and it is with trembling hands he returns the phone to his pocket, before eyes suddenly looking twice their age settle on Batman.

''I'm going to need the team. There's a... situation.''

The team exchanges a look before Aqualad steps forward.

''Is something wrong?''

Jim takes a deep breath but doesn't feel any better, or more inclined to face the reality of the new situation. Instead he plunges right in; when it comes to disaster, like cold water, nothing is preparing enough. The only way to get in is to stop thinking and just go.

''We have multiple reported teenagers threatening to jump, as we speak.''

No one makes a sound for what feels like a very long time, much longer than the time they know they have.

''We're sending officers, but we can't afford to assume anything. Any... help would be... appreciated.'' He looks at Kid Flash and Miss Martian a little longer than the others.

A lump lodges in his throat, and Wally's heart beats faster.

''Batman, it seems you will have your wish.'' Aqualad says and turns his gaze towards Gordon, trying to sound as reassuring as he possibly can. ''You can count on us, commissioner.''

Gordon hopes to God he's right.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw suicide

Everything speeds up from there on, only their movements seem to slow down. Wally feels like he’s running through taffy, and every muscle screams as he pushes his body to the brink of exhaustion. But he can’t possibly slow down, not when he’s so close — and still it feels like he couldn’t be further away — because Wally needs to be there, needs to be on time, can’t be late now, can’t ever be late again because if he is, someone could die. Someone  _will_  die and he already missed too many chances, so many opportunities to be there for someone, save someone. He can’t afford another regret.  
  
Wally won’t let anyone die tonight.  
  
There are five of them. Five kids, some his age, some just below and it's too familiar, but he can’t think of that, won’t think of that now, doesn’t have  _time_  they’re running out of time and Wally needs to run faster.  


Kaldur and Roy are taking care of the second one, to the East, further away from ”his”, who is just a lonely girl on a building. No one has any idea how she even got that far up unlike Dick who knows how to climb a building and scale a wall and just jump flip circus act his way to heights no humans should reach. This is just a normal girl from a normal life with normal problems — but they’re heavy problems, aren’t they? Because she’s going to kill herself and oh god Wally has to  _focus_.   
  
M’gann and Conner are heading for the couple. Two kids together hand in hand he hears someone say like it’s romantic, like they think it’s a stupid movie with props and a mattress waiting for them on the ground but it’s  _not_ , it’s real and it hurts. It hurts to hit the ground but it hurts just as much to watch. To reach out but miss and it’s all going to be on him, on them, if this doesn’t work out because the commissioner is counting on them.  
  
Sure they have their officers and squad cars and the ambulances and the negotiation teams and tape, but they’re worried, unsettled, unconfident about this, why else would they need a group of vigilantes to help? This should be routine procedure — a horrible truth on its own — but it’s not, it’s not and Wally is scared. So scared.  
  
He’d rather stare down the barrel of a gun or hear that maniacal laugh in his ear, anything rather than this because fights are easy to win. You swing enough, kick enough, run enough, dodge enough, things will work out. Police can come, slam the villain in jail and you can go home. Life will go on.  
  
But this is different. The world doesn’t wait for you to catch up. Not after something like this.  
  
It goes about its business, uncaring or perhaps just unknowing of your own personal perils. Its spins do not slow down, rather, they seem only to speed up as the whole world keeps moving past.

   
And Wally needs to run.

 

* * *

 

 

The police said they're handling the fourth and so that leaves the fifth and final person to him. Him and Artemis who is clinging to his back like Robin used to do when they were on missions or sometimes just bored or running late, late, late he’s always, always late and he has to keep moving. 

Wally feels his legs ache like filled with acid but he keeps on running. Artemis slaps his shoulder to signal she can’t breathe but Wally only dares slow down for her to breathe one, two times maybe if he’s generous, before he speeds up again.  
  
And five teenagers is strange, at the same time, only six, maybe seven, hours after — after Dick tried to jump and this is when it hits him, hard in the throat and before Gordon explains Wally knows what’s going on.  
  
”This sort of thing happens” Gordon said as they left. ”We’ve had it happen before, a long time ago.''  
  
And he explained, that sometimes when celebrities try to commit suicide — some of them succeed but they had been lucky this time, he said. And yes, they had been very lucky but Wally didn’t speak because he didn’t think he could keep from screaming — but when celebrities, famous people, role models, someone people looked up to tried to die things got volatile.  
  
The media, usually, was at fault. You don’t portray things right, he had said, the wrong message gets across. You have to be delicate, you have to be precise and professional and so very  _careful_ , and some of the news stations and papers had been. They had been very respectful and good, so good but too many had been terrible. They had showed the fall, the jump, or they had worded their sentences awkwardly, accusingly or, god forbid the worst of all, romantically. As if it was something good and wonderful, something to strive for.  
  
''You glorify this thing'' Gordon said ''You glorify this act and show someone people respect and look up to doing it, well, if you’re unlucky other people will be doing it.''  
  
Copycat suicides, was the term. Wally doesn’t want to think about it too much because things only have their own names when they occur often enough.  
  
They got a call some hours ago, someone had swallowed pills but changed their mind. They had to pump his stomach but he'd be fine, Gordon assured, but the GCPD didn’t think much of it at the time. It’s Gotham, it happens. Even in happier, brighter, better cities these things happen. People die. People have enough.   


But then there was another, slit wrists but the kid had made it, too. They got to her in time and rushed her to the hospital and she was going to be fine. Physically, anyway. It was strange but, statistically not all that improbable.  
  
''It's  _Gotham_ '' he said.  
  
But even Gotham doesn’t get a lot of suicide waves. Epidemic was the word he wanted to use, almost did let it slip out but stopped himself halfway through but Wally picked up enough to know. M’gann was teary eyed but gritted her teeth because she needed to help these people and you can’t help people when you’re crying and Artemis squeezed her hand and Wally couldn’t take it, couldn’t breathe but he couldn’t tell them either.   
  
And then Artemis asked if it was about the Grayson suicide and every part of Wally came to a halt. But no one noticed him, only M’gann gave him a strange glance but she must’ve figured he was just very caring and empathic because she gave him a reassuring look and that was that.  
  
They all got to talking about it and the commissioner had to explain, talk about his daughter’s friend’s death wish with a clinical professionalism he didn’t have the energy for but the obligation to uphold and they were all taking this so lightly. Yes, he jumped, he survived, yes, all very good but what failed to carry through all of this was that  _nothing_  was fine.   
  
Gordon’s words didn’t retell of the horror that shook Wally’s entire world in ways he never wanted, ways that still made him feel sick to his stomach but he tried to swallow it down and he wasn't even  _there_ , he couldn't imagine how Artemis or Roy must have felt and oh god oh god no he can’t think of this now.  


Gordon sighed and looked liked he wanted nothing more but the Earth to open up and swallow him. They hooked him up to the mind link just to be in constant touch because things could go wrong and that was the last Wally saw of his team before they parted.   


* * *

 

  
  
M’gann speeds through the air as fast as she can, her entire body quivering as the wind pushes against her and like putty about to lose its form, her body tries its best to blend out of shape. But at least she's  _moving_  and she has to catch her  _now_  or — the girl falls so fast, so incredibly fast she hadn’t expected this velocity and M’gann acts on instinct, on reflex as her arms extend, several pairs of them to catch her, to grab anything, blindly at the air as her fist closes around nothing. Then one fist makes contact, grabs the boy like a rubber band before another of her hands stops the girl, levitates her as slowly as she can afford because if she used real force the girl would split in half and — she falters.  
  
They’re so high up, but not high enough because M’gann still hears the sound of her body falling falling  _falling_  and she can’t do this —  
  
But Conner is strong, Conner can leap, he doesn’t need to fly right now because he can leap and he catches the girl; clutches her in strong arms and the girl screams, or maybe it’s M’gann, or the parents or the crowd, someone is screaming and it’s drilling through her head, eating her from the inside out.  
  
”M’gann!” Conner screams, and the Martian pulls her mind out of the many others flooding into hers and she returns, to the world, and the boy is shivering in her grasp because he’s just tried to  _die_  and an eight armed green alien is holding him so far above the ground and he cries because its all he can think of doing.  
  
The girl clutches at Conner’s chest and he gives the Martian a long, long look before he releases a breath he hadn’t noticed holding.  


* * *

 

  
They reach the building quickly but not nearly quickly enough and if Wally was only faster, they’d been here sooner but there was Artemis, too, and her body couldn’t stand the speed and the inertia and the friction like he could. Wally had to be careful for her and it wasn’t her fault, she was only human but they couldn’t afford it now.  
  
The police are swarming the place, trying just like before to fight off the crowd, the reporters who made this all worse when it was already so bad in the first place and the crying, screaming, trembling mother on the ground. Wally doesn’t look at her because he needs to stay together.  
  
Artemis talks briefly to the chief negotiator, to the officer responding to the call in the first place — Wally picks up something about a neighbor seeing but doesn’t pay any more attention other than how best to get up that wall the fastest. It’s all glass and shiny, beautiful, yes, but slippery although if he creates some distance, gets up a running start he could get up that wall, hopefully not fall this time, waver and he could catch the person and they wouldn’t even have time to react — scream and punch and  _blame_  him — before they were back on the ground.  
  
Artemis inquires through the mind link because the mother doesn’t need to hear but Wally isn’t listening enough. All he sees is the wall, the wall and the person, so far up and he’s never run that high up in a straight line before but he needs to  _try_.  
  
_”Do you think you can make it?”_  Artemis asks and she sounds unsure, her fear and her worry bleeds into his mind and his heart beats twice as fast with the quickening rhythm of her own.  
  
_”I have to try._ ” he responds, and his mental voice sounds strong but he doesn’t feel strong at all. Artemis notices but doesn’t remark.  
  
_”What if I go from the inside, and try to talk —_ ”  
  
_”We’re not here to talk. They tried talking. We’re here to act. Now.”_  

Artemis regards him for so long his skin itches because she’s not sure how to tell him this, not sure how much he knows about Dick and she doesn’t want to hurt him, not now of all times but they need to be professional.  
  
_”How much do you… know about… about the Grayson suicide?_ ”   
  
It feels strange not to call it Robin's or Dick's suicide but they're on a shared link and she needs to be careful even in her own mind.  
  
_”Attempt. The suicide attempt. He didn’t die._ ”  
  
Artemis pauses.  
  
_”No, he didn’t._ ”  
  
He didn’t die. He didn’t and he wouldn’t just like this girl wouldn’t.  
  
_” Wa — Kid Flash —_ ”  
  
_”I ran to the scene but when I got there it was all over, long over and the cops weren’t around and I…_ ” Wally stops himself because Gordon might be listening. Artemis doesn’t comment so neither does he and hopes it will simply get lost in the chaos.  
  
_”I uh, I was... I uh... I…_ ” She doesn’t know how to continue. And it's not just the way she has to avoid any big reveals, she simply has no idea how to possibly say this because she hasn’t spoken it out loud, it isn’t really real yet and if it’s hard enough on her, how hard would it be on Wally and how in god’s name can she even begin to explain this to him?  
  
_”Artemis, we don’t have_ time _. We need to go._ ”  
  
Artemis releases a shuddering breath and resumes with a voice much stronger, hoping it might instill confidence, if not in him then maybe in her.  
  
”I was at the scene and when…'' she speaks with her normal voice outside in the normal world and it startles Wally for a second, despite being close to a whisper. ''When he jumped I was positioned so I could catch him. It was... It was risky but it was all we had at the time. Red Arrow was with me, in case I… In case I missed.”  
  
Wally stops breathing, and she looks at him with wary, careful eyes until his chest starts moving again.  
  
_”Alright. But this is. This is a taller building. You won’t make it up in time._ ”  
  
The wave of bad thoughts pushes and fights its way in, but Wally can’t think about it now, can’t think about the fact that he actually jumped, that he actually gave up, that he actually  _let go_  no no no he will  _not_  think about that fact or the part that Artemis could have missed, could have dropped him and Wally owes her  _so much_  he can’t  _think about that now_.  
  
Wally fixes his goggles mostly because he needs to move or he’s going to explode right where he stands and Artemis just sighs because she knows she won’t win this one with him.  
  
_”Go. Try. I’ll be here. As a safety net._ ”  
  
Wally only stops himself from laughing bitterly, emptily at the absurdity and irony of her comment because the mother’s just a few feet away and it won’t do well to laugh in this situation so he bites his teeth down hard and starts running.  
  
  


* * *

 

 

 _”We got one more_ ” Gordon says over the link, which is a strange thing in its own right and it feels intrusive, somehow, like lying clotheless in front of strangers but he can’t be modest or old-fashioned when lives are in the balance.  
  
Kaldur holds the weeping fourteen year old in his arms and whispers soothing words in the Atlantean tongue, and though the child does not understand he takes solace in the words. Because they sound like they understand, and Kaldur doesn't really but he wants the boy to know it is alright. Roy finds no words at all as he can’t tear his eyes away from them, tries but can’t because this boy should not be here.  
  
And he doesn’t know who he’s really angry with, most of all himself, he thinks, but he’s angry with  _someone_  because this shouldn’t be allowed to happen.  
  
Kaldur tells him through their link that  _”It’s alright, we made it in time_ ” but it’s not really alright, is it? Roy can’t even muster a response with his thoughts so he simply stares, closes his trembling fists and tries to tell himself that he isn’t scared.  


* * *

 

  
Wally almost falls because the girl lets go. Falls directly towards him, eyes wide and brown as she sees Wally, frightened he’s sure, but Wally’s pretty frightened too. He regains his grip just in time and runs faster, catching the girl before she has the chance to fall very far and within the next moment they are back on the roof, and Wally is breathing so fast, he can barely hear the girl moving underneath him. 

The way his heart pounds in his ear it feels like it's smashing against his skull, though he knows that's only his imagination and he wants to move, but at the same time not, can’t force his limbs to obey because they’re rigid with exhaustion and adrenaline and if he lets the girl go, she might jump again and he can’t let her jump because this is someone’s  _child_ , someone’s friend or sister or secret crush or maybe open crush, who was he to know and Wally stays still in his place, trembling just as much as the kid.  
  
”Who — Who —- What —- ”  
  
The girl can’t speak properly and Wally is glad because he doesn’t think he can take it. Artemis says something over the link, and he thinks Gordon is the one to respond but he doesn’t know. Doesn’t really care right now because Wally never wants to hear another word about death or jumping or buildings or anything ever again.  
  
He wants to go home and go to sleep and have this be over with but it’s not, it’s not and Wally doesn’t notice Artemis approaching or when she arrived or how long they’ve been up there — all he knows is Artemis is taking the kid from him and he wants to scream, tries to fight at first because  _no no no you can’t_  but Artemis tells him in her calmest, most delicate possible voice that he  _needs to let go_.  
  
And the little girl is probably so frightened because she can’t understand why a superhero is grabbing onto her like no tomorrow and when did she start crying? Artemis tries to be gentle and kind though Wally doesn’t understand why, but eventually his hands let go and his fingers tremble, Artemis takes the sobbing girl away from him and the only thing that makes Wally let her is the fact that he has to go to the side and vomit.

 

* * *

  
  
”I’m sorry I asked you to do this” Gordon says and he sounds like he means it, but it doesn’t really make any difference. ”I know it’s a lot to ask and you’re... you’re kids, yourselves. You’re too young to… I’m sorry I asked this much of you but I had no one else to turn to.”  
  
”We understand” Kaldur says and Wally wants to punch him because he doesn’t understand at all.  
  
Batman was busy with the Joker as usual and the monster, the monster who is responsible for everything, the man Wally wants to suffer so much his thoughts frighten him, the man who keeps him up at night making dark and unfamiliar things grow and fester in his brain. Wally can’t stop throwing up as he sits on the curb with the bag in his hands, someone put a blanket over him at some point but he can’t remember when or who just as he can’t remember how they got here. 

M’gann is hiding beneath her hair, a cup of hot tea in her hands and Conner’s arm around her shoulders as his eyes are cold and distant. She doesn’t pursue his shielded mind because he needs his privacy, and instead takes comfort in his warmth, lets his body anchor her to reality so she doesn’t get sucked in by the countless other frantic minds and drown.  
  
Roy is swearing and yelling a lot at the reporters, Aqualad tries to subdue him at one point but it’s hard because Roy is so  _angry_  and Kaldur is a little angry too, but tries not to let it get the better of him because this is his team and his friends and he needs to take care of them. He tries to stay strong because they can’t. But it’s hard. So very, very hard.  
  
Roy screams and spits what most of them are thinking, that this is the media's fault, the reporters for glorifying something so destroying, the archer keeps screaming even after he's lost all words. The disaster has lured reporters even from neighboring cities, and someone is wearing a Daily Planet jacket, a redheaded boy with a camera who disappears behind a reporter when Roy meets his eyes. Kaldur tells him to calm down, to walk with him, away from them, but Roy is beyond consolation.  
  
''Commissioner Gordon! Commissioner!'' a reporter familiar to him calls for his attention, and Gordon reluctantly turns around like an old oak tree twisting against its roots. ''A word, please!''  
  
''I don't have anything to tell you, Ms. Vale''  
  
Despite his words, Gordon steps closer to the tape and is relieved to find her eyes aren't hungry. Eager, sure, but he expected that. This was a scoop, after all.  
  
''Is it true that the teenagers met online? Was this organized from the beginning?''  
  
Gordon sighs.  
  
''No comment.''  
  
''Is this team of heroes going to stay here longer? Do you think there might be more suicide pacts?''  
  
''I have  _no_  comments.'' Gordon bores his eyes into her, staring her down until she's been quiet for long enough for the conversation to be over. At least, so he thinks, but Vicki is stubborn.  
  
''I have sources that say they made a pact after... after the Dick Grayson story. Would you say these claims are true?''  
  
''Good night, Ms. Vale''  
  
''Commissioner, just, please, one more thing.'' When he glares at her she adds in a low, cold voice. ''You don't... I... I reported that suicide attempt, live.''  
  
''Are you asking me if this is your fault?''  
  
She only nods in response. Gordon rubs at his dry eyes and exhales.  
  
''I'm not here to point fingers, Ms. Vale. I'm here to do my job. But if you want my personal opinion, these things are almost always caused by media unprofessionalism. We'll be giving a press conference about this later today, seven a.m. If you're really concerned, I suggest you be there.''  
  
The woman opens her mouth but no words come, and Gordon doesn't give her much time to try before he leaves. Walking over to the team, far off from prying eyes and curious ears, he gives them a long look of honest regret.  
  
''Correct me if I'm wrong but Aqualad is your leader, as I understand?''  
  
Artemis nods.  
  
''Yeah.''  
  
Gordon's gaze lingers on her for far longer than she finds comfortable; she hopes he's just lost in thought, or maybe stalling in fear of confronting Kaldur, though her paranoia suggests it might be something else. Gordon doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but there's something familiar about her. It feels like he's seen her someplace before, though he can't remember where.

  
''I thought Robin was on your team?''  
  
Her eyes widen, body going rigid for a moment so small it might not have even happened at all.  
  
''I, uh...'' the girl quickly collects herself and looks as confident as he'd seen in the tabloids, side by side with Green Arrow fighting the monster of the week. ''Robin's been busy. You know. Dynamic duo stuff. It's all very secret, Bats and their paranoia, you know.''  
  
She smiles a stilted kind of smile, and Gordon knows it's as forced as she does, but he still smiles back and he's sure it doesn't look any more natural when he does it.  
  
''Of course. Part of their theme.'' 

He looks at her for a while more, even as he leaves his gaze lingers on her, before he turns his head away and a bit more hurriedly, walks up to Kaldur.

Artemis sits down with her lungs raw and empty, letting the panic roam through her for almost a full minute before she decides it must just be her paranoia, as well. Because Gordon couldn't suspect something wasn't right with the boy wonder's absence, and he couldn't possibly recognize her from earlier. He hadn't even  _been_  there and she had been flat chested and crouching and no, no, she was simply letting the stress and adrenaline and exhaustion and the remaining cocktail of chemical reactions get to her. She had to be. Still, despite her weak attempt at reassuring herself, Artemis can't quite shake the feeling that she's lying to herself.  
  
''Aqualad?''   
  
Gordon steps up to the Atlantean, almost looking afraid. As worry settles in to make nest in Kaldur's stomach, his worry seeps through his body language and Roy finally stops screaming. Gordon nods towards the side, further away from the tape, and Kaldur nods in acknowledgement and silent agreement to follow. Gordon doesn't question Red Arrow's presence and in turn, Roy doesn't make himself known other than the fact that he's breathing and standing among them.  
  
''Commissioner?''  
  
''I know this... this is a lot to ask, as I said before. I didn't want to have to drag you all into this but...''  
  
''You had no other choice. As I have mentioned, I understand.''  
  
Gordon grimaces slightly because he doesn't want him to understand. He shouldn't  _have_  to.  
  
''What happened this morning was...'' he sighs, decides the sooner he says it the better for them all.  
  
''The Werther effect'' The archer says and Gordon looks at him like he forgot he was there.

   
''Yes.''  
  
''I am not sure I follow'' Kaldur frowns slightly. ''What is this... Werther effect?''  
  
''It's from a book'' Gordon gestures faintly. ''When a group of people ... it's like contagious human behavior.''  
  
Kaldur doesn't look any the wiser form his explanations so Gordon looks to Red Arrow for help.  
  
''He means the suicide attempts.''  
  
Roy's ambiguous answer draws a strange, and maybe slightly annoyed, look from the Atlantean, but he thinks he understands.  
  
''You are saying that this might happen again?''  
  
Roy nods but doesn't speak. Instead Kaldur looks to Gordon, who's sighed so many times by now he's lost count.  
  
''Like I explained to you earlier, when a celebrity commits suicide and the media reports it in a tactless way, usually glorifying and romanticizing it, other people, especially people who can relate in some way to the celebrity, well. They get ideas.''  
  
''And this is what happened today.''  
  
''Yes. They... these kids, the first three had met in a chat room, after seeing a broadcast about... about the Grayson boy and figured they'd do the same. And then the couple... apparently, they had been planning it for some time but the news report was just what they needed to make up their minds.''  
  
''Some figure their suicide will gather the same attention the celebrity got, it's... like a last cry in desperation.'' Roy speaks with a voice so tense and low Kaldur almost doesn't hear it. ''That or they think that if someone they look up to can't take it anymore, then how could they possibly? And... when several people latch onto it, a sort of epidemic can spread.''  
  
''Dick Grayson is... he's a kid, and other kids are going to relate to him and the way the media's been portraying this just these last few  _hours_...'' Gordon bites his cheek briefly and shakes his head. ''After some celebrity suicides, and sometimes just any suicide, the rates of attempts will increase tremendously. Especially this close to the source. It's. It's...''  
  
''It's going to be a rough month.''  
  
Gordon breathes and he's sort of relieved Red Arrow is there to say the things he doesn't want to.  
  
''Yes.''  
  
Aqualad thinks their words over for a while, quiet and contemplating.  
  
''You are asking if we can stay and help.'' he says then, and Gordon feels even worse hearing his words spoken by the teen than he did thinking them. ''I see.''

Aqualad sounds like an old man but he is a child, a teenager but in a father's eyes, still a child. Gordon wonders how he can remain collected -- whereas Red Arrow has been livid and screaming, Kid Flash sick, Miss Martian crying and Superboy and Artemis staring blankly into space, Aqualad has been the calm in the storm. Gordon appreciates and recognizes the strength that takes, the maturity and the self-sacrifice to put the needs of the group ahead of one's own. It pains him as well because no child should have to learn how to do so, be this strong, so early on in life.  
  
''I know, as I said, it's  _a lot_  to ask and I don't  _want_  to dump this much responsibility on you, and God knows the GCPD doesn't trust vigilantes but... but  _I_  do and... I'm not asking you to stay all month, I'm not. That's unfair. You're  _kids_ , this is too much even for an adult but... But for the rest of the day. Just until we get better control of the situation. We can't be in every place at once and, well, when you have a boy who can run faster than I can blink and one girl who can fly...''  
  
''I will talk to them.''  
  
Gordon actually looks surprised, so Kaldur tries a reassuring smile but it comes out crooked. ''I know this is trying and I admit I am shaken, much more than I would like to but... I know the team cares about innocent lives and as do I. I am certain they will do whatever they can.  _We_  will do whatever we can.''  
  
Gordon isn't sure what to say, so he says the only thing there is, but it doesn't feel close enough to cover the amount of gratitude, the relief that leaves his body empty and weak as it washes through.  
  
''Thank you.''  


* * *

 

  
  
Alfred sits quietly outside the young master's bedroom door. Having been awake for far too long now, his ears always listening for any out of place sounds, his mind on constant alert, he is weary, yet finds no rest for his body. Normally, by ten a.m, he would have chased him out of bed by any means necessary. But the boy needs his sleep, and Alfred, for once, does not feel inclined to rob him of it.  
  
They stayed up far too long, at first waiting for the laundry to be finished, but even after hanging it to dry and Dick changing his sheets, the boy was restless and that inability to calm settled in the butler's own body. Alfred made scones and tea and dished it all out, and though Dick's attempt at eating was dishonest and weak, Alfred didn't mention it this time.

They sat mostly in silence, chatted a little about school and what he wanted to do with it now. Dick didn't have much to say on the matter, and when Alfred said that master Bruce wanted him to take a leave of absence, just until things settled down and he had gotten on a bit with therapy, Dick did not seem as upset as Alfred had expected. He merely pulled his scone apart, piece by piece, and kept his dull and transparent eyes fixed on his plate.  
  
They spoke a little more about the team and completely unrelated things, like algebra and important figures in British history, and somehow Dick ended up having to explain the nature of Transformers to him. Although Alfred didn't quite grasp the appeal or the logic behind the show, and Dick's voice lacked any enthusiasm, he was talking, and as long as his mind could take a break from everything, Alfred was glad. They both needed that.  
  
Alfred rubs at his eye and waits for someone to stir. Either master Dick awakening or master Bruce returning. He has not heard from him in hours now, the last thing being an order not to, under any circumstances, let Dick watch the news or read the morning paper. Anything bringing him close to a news source was strictly forbidden. When Alfred questioned why, Bruce suddenly had to go, and the butler had tried to occupy himself for the last hour trying to figure out how on Earth to keep a teenage boy away from the internet. 

Though Dick has shown little interest in his computer lately, so maybe that would work out on its own. As a last resort, he could always disconnect the router and blame it on a storm coming. A poor lie, yes, he would prefer honesty with the boy, but Bruce's orders were clear and Alfred trusts he has his reasons.  
  
It's around eleven that Alfred is forced away from his chair, his legs stiff as he carries himself over to a large window. He doesn't like leaving his guarding position and he panics, briefly, but calms himself enough with the reminder that all dangerous items have been cleared from Dick's room. He was in a safe and nearly child-proof environment; although this did nothing but anger the boy, it was for the best.  
  
As he peers out from behind the drapes, he sees a large crowd has gathered by the gates. Far away from the mansion, but there just the same. It 's not the first time Alfred has seen them there, flocking together like vultures around a fresh corpse but for some reason it unsettles him this morning more than others. He starts pulling the drapes together again but stops himself as he sees that old blur again. Frowning, Alfred hopes the speedster will, just this once, be inconspicuous.  
  
The orange and yellow disappears around the hill bend, and the reporters seem not to have noticed anything. Alfred considers briefly if maybe it was a trick of the light, or a vision born out of his sleep deprivation, but his instincts tell him to make absolutely sure before he discards the idea. Sighing, Alfred gives Dick's door one last, reluctant look before he hurries over to the other side of the corridor turning into another and yet another after that, further into the belly of the mansion until he has reached the East side.   
  
His instinct rarely failing him, Alfred isn't surprised to see the redheaded speedster staring at him through the window, clutching at the ledge, his face sweaty and pale. Alfred opens the window, face placid, as it's not the first time the boy has had to enter through this side. Alfred often wondered why he didn't try any of the secret exits and entrances and trap doors, but suspected it had something to do with the fear of a certain Bat.  
  
''Master Wallace, how good to see you. You look tired, is everything all right?''  
  
Wally hoists himself up and allows Alfred to drag him over the sill and into the corridor, nearly collapsing against the older man, breaths welling out in short, shallow gasps.  
  
''Is he awake?''  
  
Alfred regards him for a brief moment before he shakes his head. The look on the boy's face worries him, but he has little time to investigate, as Wally is already moving.  
  
''Master Wallace!''  
  
But Wally doesn't listen, just fights the exhaustion burning through his muscles, tearing through his joints and ripping his lungs. He runs sloppily and unsteadily through the corridors, pace uneven as his last pathetic ounce of energy dies and the adrenaline alone has to carry him. Wally hesitates only for the fraction of a second outside Dick's door before he knocks, fist slapping rapidly but slackly against its surface.  
  
''Dick? Dick, you awake?''  
  
He can't stop panting long enough to listen for any sounds from inside, but knows Dick is a light sleeper and even if he had been asleep, he'd surely be awake now. Wally gives the door another quick set of knocks.  
  
''Dick? Dick, come  _on_!''  
  
The intrusive silence is suddenly waking his panic anew, stirring up the fear that was lingering, nesting comfortably and constantly in his body so long he'd almost gotten used to it. But it rises anew with fresh vigor and corrodes through his senses, his logic and most of all his patience, as the silence makes Wally fear the worst.  
  
''Dick, open the door!'' His voice breaks and cracks as his throat is so dry, his mouth thirsting for water he should have had long ago, his eyes blurry with exertion and dry, so dry he feels like they're about to explode. Wally tries to raise his voice but only coughs, croaking out the rest of his words. ''Dick, I'm  _freaking_  out and I need you to  _open the door_!''

 

He didn't notice knocking so hard or so fast until the door finally opens and he wobbles at the sudden loss of support, nearly falling on the boy but picking himself up in the last moment. Dick flinches back a step in surprise and looks to Wally with eyes wide in fear, but worry, too.  
  
''Wally, what the hell happened to  _you_?''  
  
He looks at his best friend who seems to be close to collapsing, wonders how he's even standing and Dick feels a familiar pain grate in his gut.

   
''Wally, is something wrong? Did... something happen? Is everyone okay?''  
  
And Wally can't stop himself and maybe it's the complete loss of energy or maybe it's the fear that's been screaming and pounding and thrashing in his head, maybe he doesn't really know, if it's what he's seen or what he's had to do all morning, all sunrise and the fearful eyes he's met as people plunged to their death and the many  _falls_ , the falls he heard about and knew about.

Close calls and the fear of things Wally couldn't deal with right now but he can't restrain the sob that breaks out, an ugly, wretched sound from the deepest pit of his throat and Wally knows he's crying but he doesn't care anymore.  
  
''Wally..?'' Dick asks so hesitantly, so carefully Wally wishes he could tackle hug him like he used to do but knows it's not like that anymore and it just makes him cry harder.   
  
Wally's knees give a little shake as the only warning before they buckle, and he sinks to the floor, Dick's hands reaching out to grab him as if by a deeply rooted reflex. Wally is just so  _relieved_  to feel his hands on his shoulders, his breath against his forehead and Dick is probably looking at him like he's the biggest maniac in the world but Wally's just glad he's looking at him at all because he could be  _dead_.   
  
''Wally, what's going on? You're freaking  _me_  out'' Dick's voice is soft and encouraging and understanding and his. Its juvenile pitch that Wally used to tease on so many occasions getting harder to hear because Dick is frightened to speak, terrified because Wally's never done this before, has never lost control in front of him like this but all Wally can do is lean his head against his shoulder and cry harder.  
  
When Dick slowly wraps his arms around him, not as stiffly as Wally expected, but naturally, almost fluidly like they should be doing just that, Wally hugs him back and clings onto Dick's tiny body for dear life.  
  
Dick doesn't say anything else and Wally doesn't mind. Alfred looks as worried and confused as the young master, but very quietly steps away. Dick starts speaking to his friend in a soft hush hush kind of voice like mothers to their children with nightmares chasing them through the dark, and Wally doesn't understand a word because he can't focus on anything but the relief and the joy and the sadness and the thousand little throbs of emotions he doesn't want to deal with.   
  
But Dick says it's okay and for once in so long Wally allows himself to believe him.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw torture and people eating

The Batmobile hums softly as it swerves out of its hiding place in the alley and stops softly by his feet, loyal like a dog, and throws up the doors.  
  
''Leaving so soon?''  
  
He stops mid-step at the voice and it's with slow movements he turns around, knowing full well who it is even before she jumps out of the shadows.   
  
''Haven't seen you in a while'' Selina says smoothly. ''What, a girl can't get a call these days?''  
  
''You're still here'' He states simply.  
  
Selina rolls her eyes. Not that he looked in the mood for any games, though he rarely did, but she had expected a little more from him.  
  
''You sound disappointed.''  
  
''I thought you were done with the suit.''  
  
''Desperate times.'' She smiles. ''Looks like we're heading the same way, Batman. What do you say, wanna give a girl a lift?''  
  
His face visibly stiffens.  
  
''What are you doing, Selina?''  
  
Seemingly out of nowhere, she pulls out the tracking device and throws it casually into the air. Batman's almost worried she'll drop it when she catches it easily mid-air, a finger resting against her cheek.  
  
''Helping out a friend. Were you worried about me? Think I'd gone rogue just for the thrill?'' Selina chuckles. ''That's sweet of you, Bruce. But you don't have to worry about me, you know what they say about cats and landing on their feet.''  
  
''Care to explain why you've been working with two of Gotham's most wanted criminals before I decide to trust you inside my car?''  
  
''Oooh, you boys and this weird attachment to your cars.'' She makes a disapproving sound and shakes her head. ''I'm not like you, Bruce. I don't have a butler and fancy toys and sidekicks to do everything for me. When you're like me, you've gotta get creative.''  
  
''You always did have a funny idea of creative.''  
  
She smirks before she with long, lean movements flips to the passenger side of the Batmobile, stroking her hand across its shiny surface, a teasing glimmer to her eyes.   
  
''Bruce, do you honestly think I'm in this for any reason less noble than yours?'' She twists her mouth, looking unimpressed. ''Really, now. You've known me long enough, at least give me the benefit of a doubt.''  
  
Batman narrows his eyes at her, suspicion rolling in his chest but rising by its side, is the urge to trust her. Selina opens her hands, palms turned towards him, fingers playing in the air.  
  
''See'' she says. ''I haven't stolen anything.''  
  
Batman keeps glaring at her in silence, but the longer he looks at her the more certain she becomes that he'll eventually waver.  
  
''I drive, you talk.'' He grunts, stalking towards the driver's side and getting in, cape fluttering dramatically behind him.  
  
Selina can't help but give a little grin as she hops in, juggling the tracking device between her hands.  
  
''So all I had to do to get to talk to you was get in cahoots with escaped criminals and be around for an explosion? My, my, are you high maintenance. All  _I_  ask for is a diamond or two, maybe dinner and a dance.''  
  
He growls at her, mouth a thin line but as he starts up the engine and drives out of the alley, she thinks his face looks just a little bit softer.  
  


* * *

 

  
He stumbles and trips across the asphalt; out of breath, out of energy and probably also out of time, but not without fight. Fleeing, yes, but his power was always in his mind and not his fists.  
  
Right now that very mind is under the steady looming threat of being shot to pieces, so he figures the further distance he can put between himself and the chaotic botanical garden, the better.  
  
He's far away now, far enough to no longer hear the sounds of screams and gunshots. It's a wonder Batman hasn't shown up, so he's either in some very bad traffic or hot on Riddler's trail, hiding in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. So Edward runs faster because you never know and if you don't know, you run.  
  
He stops when he reaches the harbor, leaning against a wall, shielded from the light of the sun rolling out of its slumber as morning rises. He pants and gasps for five steady minutes. Despite being so used to running he still fails to work up much in the cardio department.  
  
When his pulse has calmed down a bit, he starts listening for any ominous sounds of footsteps or engines or batarangs cutting through air, but all he hears is the arrhythmic screaming of seagulls and one or other car. Releasing a breath, Riddler relaxes against the wall as he wipes his forehead.  
  
''Catwoman?'' he taps the cane but it only buzzes unhelpfully. ''Catwoman, are you there? Two-Face? Is anyone there at all?''  
  
The line hums but carries no voices; he knocks it against the wall yet the same old static meets him and it's two very long minutes that pass before he simply accepts that the line is down, for whichever reason. It's not something of which he wants to think about at the moment, because he is sure it all somehow ends up with him in trouble.  
  
''Great job, Eddy'' he mutters, fanning himself with his hat. ''Now what?''  
  
He sighs heavily, putting the hat back on.   
  
''I hope Harvey doesn't get them all killed.''  
  
''Missin' your pals?'' A low rumbling voice that can only belong to one person, rustles from below and Riddler nearly swallows his heart as green, scaly arms reach out of the water.  
  
The huge beast-like man drags himself out of the water and up on dry land, shaking his body to rid himself of remaining drops before he straightens to stand like a man.  
  
''They leave you out here all alone, or you run away like the coward you are?''  
  
''What do you want?'' Riddler snarls, cane raised as some makeshift weapon even though he knows Croc will eat him in one bite if he wants to.  
  
''I was thinkin' a meal.''  
  
Riddler looks around him for the quickest escape. His thighs burn in exhaustion, a nasty side stitch gnashing under his ribs but when it comes to his life, he's always willing to run a little further. Though Croc is large and slow, Riddler is tired and the other might be able to outrun him this once.  
  
''Ain't nowhere to run, Riddle man'' He might be wrong, but it looks like Croc is actually smirking. Edward feels his skin crawl as he instinctively backs further against the wall. ''I got you corn'rd.''  
  
''You can't be  _that_  hungry'' Riddler's voice only shakes a little. ''I'm all wire and bones! Can't you eat someone fatter, like say, Cobblepot?''  
  
Croc just laughs and the sound hits him like the snaps of a jaw.  
  
''But I got you in claws' reach''  
  
The man advances upon him, closing the distance and it's incredible how much he stinks; Edward always forgets just how thick the smell really is, the kind that brings tears to your eyes, and it hits him hard in the throat every time he has the displeasure to experience it.  
  
''I always wond'red how your skin tastes''  
  
''Awful!'' Riddles squeaks, shielded behind his own arms, in a futile attempt to protect against the shredding jaws.  
  
Croc rumbles, deep from his throat as the teeth come closer, glistening white and sharp, so sharp he thinks he can hear them as they bite through the air and the snapsnap _snap_  as the jaws shut close and click open just inches from his face.  
  
''Get away from me!'' Riddler smacks his cane across the long, thick-skinned face, regretting this decision as soon as he realizes what he’s done. 

Croc swings his long, thick tail against him, but Riddler is quick to jump out of the way, stumbling on his feet as dust falls from cracked bricks. Croc turns to him, growl still rolling and growing in his mouth, breaths coming out hot and just as putrid as his own smell as they fall over Riddler's form.   
  
''Mm, you don't smell good.'' The nostrils twitch on his long, green snout and he sounds almost disappointed when he speaks next. ''Not like him.''  
  
''Then why don't you go eat  _him_?! I don't have  _time_  to be eaten!''  
  
Croc laughs and watches the small man shake.  
  
''Well, I would, 'cept I d'no where he is.''  
  
''Well, hm'' Riddler lowers his arms very slowly and very hesitantly, a sly glint in his eyes. ''Maybe I can help you. I'm good at finding things. You know, on account of you  _not eating me_.''  
  
''I would've found him by now but his scent...'' As he exhales sharply, Riddler feels bile rise in his throat. ''... it's disappeared.''  
  
''Disappeared?'' He coughs.  
  
Croc chuckles, and even such a sound comes out blood curdling from his mouth.  
  
''Must be far away by now. Probably dead, if he even got outta Arkham alive.''  
  
''Wait... Arkham?''  
  
''What's it t'you?''  
  
Edward shrugs, but there is something mischievous about him that Croc doesn't trust.  
  
''No, nothing, just that, ah... It wouldn't happen to be the Joker's new  _pal_ , would it?''  
  
''Th' butcher man.'' Croc hums like a wine taster, letting the name roll around his mouth like the finest merlot. His growl sinks into an almost purr at the thought. ''Haven't had a meal like that in too long.''  
  
''Well, whaddya know?'' Riddler shines up, his devilish grin widening ''Say, if I, hypothetically of course, were to have a way of finding out his whereabouts... would you, hypothetically, go there and fetch him with me if I said you could, once again, hypothetically, eat him?'' Croc gives him a skeptical look. ''After I've had a dance with him, of course.''  
  
The reptilian man lowers his thick neck to bore slit eyes into Riddler's own. Edward fights the urge to shiver as Croc's damp breath rolls across his skin.  
  
''Hmm.'' He licks his lips, then chuckles that awful sound again. ''And, hypothetic'ly, how would that happen?''  
  
Edward smiles, holding up a peculiar looking device in his hand, a red dot blinking on its screen.  
  
''Well, it just so happens I always keep a back-up of everything. In case my friends fail me.''  


* * *

 

  
Two-Face growls and fights against the cuffs, but knows there's no way he's getting out of them without breaking something and a considerable amount of skin loss.  
Not that it's really a big problem, but the five officers escorting him with guns ready for usage through the gates, well, they might prove to be a bit trickier. Barely conscious for the ride, it's a struggle on its own to stand on his feet.   
  
''Move it or lose it, Dent'' the officer -- whom he's pretty sure he's had investigated by internal affairs once or twice -- pushes him brutally forwards, uncaring of whatever injuries he's sustained.  
  
Two-Face glares at him and even tries a smaller tackle, but his brain works with jarred movements, like a cogwheel has fallen out, and the officer only stumbles.  
  
''That's it!'' another snarls, hitting him across the back of his head with something hard, and the world seems just a little bit blurrier when he opens his eyes again.  
  
''If it were my decision'' The first officer says ''I'd just shoot you right here, right now''  
  
They pass through a hallway he knows like the back of his hand by now, from better and worse times alike, and every familiar face that passes throws him one dirty glance after another.  
  
He's thrown into a holding cell with no regard for physical comfort, and the first thing to dampen his fall is the hard bench that collides with his knees. Two-Face curses before slumping down on it, breathing out as the pain finally starts to register. Too many parts of him hurt for him to really know where the injuries are, but he reckons that even if he did, they wouldn't be eager to treat him. 

Reclining against the wall, he yanks a little more against the cuffs.  
  
''Ya mind taking these off?'' He rattles the chain for emphasis, but the guard by the desk doesn't even bother to tear his eyes from the TV mounted in a ceiling corner. ''I don't see any others with cuffs still on.''  
  
''Yeah, well'' the guard says in disinterest as he sips his coffee. ''You're the only one here who's let any criminally insane inmates out on the loose recently, not to mention all the people I bet you killed on your way over, so how about shutting up, yeah?''  
  
Two-Face glares at him but its intensity weakens through the haze of his head.  
  
''Nice to see this place hasn't changed'' he spits.  
  
The guard simply snorts and raises the volume.  
  
The sound doesn't quite carry through to him, but the longer he sits twisting against his cuffs and eyeing the bars, trying to ignore the taste of blood in his mouth, the TV's sound gets clearer. Burrowing through his thoughts like termites, until he can't help but turn his eyes towards it. Seeing practically nothing from the bench, he gets to his feet and walks over to the bars, craning his neck to see. The guard eyes him warily, hand on his gun, but seeing as Two-Face is ignoring him, he dares to turn his own eyes back towards the screen and the news report airing.  
  
''Hey, turn that up'' Two-Face growls as the ringing in his ears still hasn't quite subsided.  
  
The officer gives him an unimpressed glance, so Two-Face puts more threat into his voice.  
  
''I ain't asking!''  
  
The guard sighs, but nevertheless raises the volume some more, and to the complaints of the other prisoners, the reporter's voice is loud and unmistakably clear, even to someone with a most probable concussion.  
  
'' _\-- and it seems just in time too, as the girl has threatened to jump. Many are questioning the decision to bring in vigilante assistance for something that should be the police's job, but many are for the decision as long as it benefits our children.''_  
  
The man's face is stiff and clear of emotion, though his voice sounds just the right amount of grave for the subject. Two-Face supposes he's had a lot of practice.  
  
''What's going on?'' he says, and the officer sighs.  
  
''You gon' be chattin' with me all night, Dent?''  
  
''Just answer the damn question.''  
  
The officer shifts in the chair to get more comfortable, as a photograph of the very same sidekicks Two-Face's had to fight turns up on the TV.  
  
''Is a wave of suicides'' the officer says with the voice of a man with a burden. ''Some kids going crazy, copycats, you know. It happens.''  
  
Two-Face presses his face against the bars, eyes narrowing at the sight of the new live footage, Kid Flash running into the scene with the archer girl on his back.  
  
''Ain't they those kids who beat you up?'' the guard snorts. ''I say, it's a crazy day when the big guy in tights and cape needs children for back-up''  
  
''Yeah, yeah'' Two-Face growls. ''Shut up, they're saying something.''  
  
The officer throws a glare out of the corner of his eye, but returns his eyes to the screen, a female voice now accompanying the live feed.  
  
'' _Still no sight of Batman and Robin, we're hoping it won't come to an actual fall this time before the heroes save the day. Flash Boy has just appeared on the scene and more sidekicks are spreading across town, as the number of reported suicides expands. Sources say the children have been inspired by the suicide attempt of Richard Grayson, billionaire ward and heir --''_  
  
''What?''   
  
''Yeah'' the guard says. ''The Grayson kid. Jumped around midnight. Commish' is really shook up about it.''  
  
Harvey stares with burning eyes at the side of his head, jaws clenched tight as a question he's not sure he wants answered kicks against his teeth.  
  
''The kid die?''  
  
There is an odd sense of relief that rolls over him when the guard lazily shakes his head.  
  
''Nah, the Boy Wonder saved him.'' Harvey frowns, but doesn't comment. ''But now a lotta kids' got the same damn idea. As I said, it happens.''  
  
Harvey scoffs.  
  
''It shouldn't.''  
  
The guard gives him a look as if he were a ghost, a long moment of silence stretching between them before he turns his face back to the TV.  
  
''No.'' He mumbles into his coffee. ''It really shouldn't.''

 

* * *

 

''Oh, this is so much fun!'' Joker claps his hands, eyeing them with a smile that looks ready to rip flesh from bone, but Picasso tries not to show fear.  
  
Primrose sits listlessly on a chair beside the operating table, a familiar experience, and no matter how the Joker gestures or moves or laughs or hisses, like a boogeyman from her dreams, she doesn't seem to even acknowledge his presence. Harley keeps a good eye on her anyway, because she simply doesn't trust a broad that doesn't blink, while Joker is overcome with excitement.  
  
''What do you wanna do first, 'casso?'' He strokes a long, toothed blade, watching the light reflect off its surface. ''Cut some tendons? Pull some teeth? Eat your own flesh?''  
  
The Artist doesn't speak or even move. Joker turns to him with the smile still growing on his face.  
  
''Don't be rude, Picasso. Remember I'm not an expert like you. I don't have your, shall we say,  _je ne sais quoi_. Oh, you're judging me, aren't you?'' He slumps into himself, hand dramatically against his forehead in a devastated farce of emotion. ''Oh, break my heart, why don't you?''  
  
The Artist groans, though ungagged he still hasn't said an awful lot and it's starting to bore the Joker.  
  
''What's the matter, old pal? Bat got your tongue?'' He pokes him with the dull side of the blade, drawing a hiss. ''Oops, hit a bruise there, did I? Ah, don't worry. We have your gal pal now!''  
  
As he pats the girl indelicately on the head, the Artist moves only to glare at him, like a protective guard dog.  
  
''Oooh, possessive, are we? Tsk, tsk. Didn't your mother teach you about sharing? I mean,  _I_  don't share my toys but that's because they're  _mine_. But I think I'm entitled to as much after years working up a reputation 'round here, wouldn't you agree?''  
  
He looks to the tray as if choosing which child to adopt, running pale, bony fingers across each instrument with the softness of a lover's caress.  
  
''Now where was it that we left off?'' he murmurs softly to himself. ''Broken fingers?''  
  
''Check!'' Harley chimes.  
  
''Cutting skin off?''  
  
''Check!''  
  
''Ah, hm.'' He taps his chin. ''Teasing wounds? Cold water?''  
  
''Check and check, puddin'!''  
  
Darkness itself seems to pull at his lips, lifting a veil to reveal the filth and bugs underneath as something monstrous glimmers in his eyes.  
  
''Well, Harl, I distinctly believe that means it's time we do the electric boogaloo''  


 

* * *

 

 

'' _\-- and we just got word that the third child has been taken to the hospital, deep in shock from what we assume was, to them, an unexpected save. We pray that the others will have the same luck and to the rest of you out there, don't give up hope. There are a numerous amount of crisis hotlines that can be reach --_ ''  
  
Batman turns the radio off, instead dialing up the mansion. Catwoman watches him steadily out of the corner of her eye, mouth tight as she grips the tracking device in her hand, only barely trembling.  
  
''Alfred'' Batman says as soon as the signal goes through, and he must have had some special tone to his voice because the butler sounds worried when he replies.  
  
_''Sir? Is everything alright_?''  
  
''No. I need you to keep Dick away from the news.'' He glances at the radio briefly. ''By any means necessary.''  
  
_''Very well, master Bruce.''_  
  
''Any news source is strictly forbidden. TV, radio, internet, newspaper.''  
  
_''Not to question your judgment here, sir, but he is a teenager, not to mention perfectly apt with computers. I don't think it will be so easy to --_ ''  
  
''Just  _don't_  let him see anything.''  
  
There is a pause on the other end during which even Selina feels uncomfortable.  
  
'' _Certainly, master Bruce. Though... may I ask why?_ ''  
  
Bruce sighs.  
  
''I have to go, Alfred. The Joker is still on free foot.''  
  
_''Alright, sir. At what time shall I expect you home?_ ''  
  
''Oh, don't worry, Alfred'' Selina purrs to Bruce's horror, at least judging by the way his mouth tightens. ''I'll make sure your boy is home by curfew.''  
  
_''Miss Kyle? Is that your lovely voice I hear?_ ''   
  
''Sure is.'' 

'' _Then I shall not worry. I trust he is in good hands._ ''  
  
''Alfred'' Bruce interrupts the two with a tense voice.  
  
'' _Yes, master Bruce_?''  
  
Bruce feels Selina's curious eyes on him as he hesitates.  
  
''How is he doing?''  
  
_''Master Dick is in the kitchen. I'll try to have him in bed before your return._ ''  
  
''Eating?''  
  
'' _Almost_.''  
  
His jaw tightens minimally.  
  
''Keep an eye on him. I'll be home as soon as I can.''  
  
'' _Certainly, sir._ '' Alfred says and Buce knows he means it. Despite this he can't quite force his nerves to calm.  
  
''Batman out.''  
  
Bruce cuts the feed before the butler can respond, and Selina's eyes are heavier on him now. She's started fiddling with the tracking device, the distress bleeding through her body language. Bruce knows she's going to dig around before she even opens her mouth.  
  
''I'm fine'' he says, and Selina rolls her eyes.  
  
''That's great to hear, though we both know what a big lie it is'' She smiles fondly at his frown. ''But I was actually wondering how _he's_ doing.''   
  
''He's fine.''  
  
Selina sighs.  
  
''Either you stop lying to me or you start getting good at it.''  
  
Bruce hardens his grip around the steering wheel while she shifts between warily eyeing the road they're rushing across at breakneck speeds, and his tightly stretched face. The tracking signal sends its information to the GPS and Bruce glances at it every now and then more from a need to avoid her than to really see where he's going. They're not far now, but still not close.  
  
''He's...'' Bruce thinks his words over wisely. Despite their history, despite everything, he's not sure how much he wants to reveal. Just in case and, perhaps, to avoid hearing it himself. The words and the truths they carry are loud in his head, but a lot quieter there than as a whisper out in the real world. ''Struggling.''  
  
''I figured as much.''  
  
Bruce gives her a tense glance.  
  
''How much have you heard?''  
  
''What's in the streets. He was captured and tortured. Went a little wild lately, beat some people up.'' She sits silent for a long while, considering what she really dares to say. As much for his wrath, as for his pain. ''They say he's crazy, you know.''  
  
''He's not crazy.''  
  
''No, if hanging out with you for four years didn't drive him off his rocker, I don't think  _anything_  will.'' At the way his body tenses, closes off in a way, Selina feels a little sting of remorse. ''I was joking, Bruce.''  
  
''I know.''  
  
She sighs and the air feels suddenly heavy.  
  
''He's your kid.'' She says. ''Say what you want but after something like this, you can't be even close to okay.''  
  
Bruce doesn't respond, but he doesn't really have to. She sees the strain in his face, sees the age that has been added as if over night, the way his voice carries just a tad rougher than usual, and she supposes it needs to just to cover the pain; the fear looming over his head like a particularly persistent rain cloud. She stretches her hand over and squeezes his against the steering wheel, softly but firmly. Bruce glances at her when she removes her hand, looking at the tracking device.  
  
''I think he'd...'' Bruce says after a long while of heavy silence, rolling the words around in his mouth to find the less bitter ones. ''I think he'd appreciate seeing you.''  
  
Selina smiles.  
  
''Oh, do you, now?''  
  
Bruce nods and Selina rests one leg over the other, leaning back against the arm rest.  
  
''I think I'd appreciate seeing him, too.''  
  
  


* * *

 

 

The screams are loud, but restrained as from a person trying not to feel pain; trying not to give in. It bounces between the walls, ricochets like a bullet as Riddler takes in the sight of the hallways, unsure if the stench is all Croc now or if it isn't a little bit the building, too.  
  
It's been abandoned for quite some time, that much he can tell. Dust and old leaves litter the ground, there's even a jacket still hanging in the dressing room they entered through. Croc had a little trouble squeezing through the window; most probably because he didn't even try as he more or less crashed through the window frame. Riddler hopes the screams and the sounds of power tools are enough to drown out their steps and his tense, frightened breathing.  
  
They round their first hallway when they have to backpedal behind a corner, as no less than four men in clown-makeup are splayed across chairs, watching an old TV with flickering reception, weapons rested against their laps.  
  
Riddler glances at Croc, whose thundering hiss has been reduced to a low, prowling whisper, and it's with hunger in his eyes that he grins.  
  
'' _All yours_ '' Riddler mouths and Croc is gone.  
  
It's amazing how fast he moves, when there's a meal in it for him; his steps powerful and loud, but slow, as he stomps into the room but his jaws, his snapping, thirsting mouth and the long, strong tail move with such swiftness, such speed, the henchmen have barely the time to raise their guns before one is crushed underneath the tail's heavy weight, sliding down the wall with a trail of blood following him. One manages to aim his gun at him, but Croc is quick to slam his jaws shut over his arm and rip the appendage off; he throws it recklessly across the room and, still with the gun in its hand, the arm falls limply into a corner.  
  
Croc chuckles, and it's dark and putrid and deep, swallowin, like quicksand. When he rips the third man in half, the fourth starts running.  
  
''I want to make a fast food joke, but I think that'd be bad taste.''  
  
Croc gives Riddler a scathing, judging look.  
  
''Your food is getting away!'  
  
Croc growls, but the prey always being more important, he lets Riddler remain as one piece and rushes after the escaping man. He's a fast runner, but running scared leaves him unfocused of his surroundings. He trips over an old, protruding floor board and falls, barely turns to his back before Croc is over him, tearing into his belly and eating him alive.  
  
Riddler walks over to the little desk by the wall, grimacing at the sharp scream of terror and the wet noises of flesh being swallowed as he looks the items over. It's mostly empty, save for some now blood stained food wrappings and crumbs, a rusty looking knife and a com radio. Riddler picks it up, careful not to get any blood on him, and now only mildly aware of the chewing noises down the hall, flicks it on only to find out it doesn't even work.  
  
''Crockiiieee'' he calls and turns around towards the doorway through which the large man had disappeared.  
  
One look at the place has him fear it'll fall apart on their heads any moment, and every step causes a creak in the floor that worries him. Riddler wants to get his would-be-prisoner and get the hell away from here. As soon as possible would be preferred.  
  
The dark green scales shimmer in the sunlight glaring in through a broken window, Croc's face now more overcome by the red of fresh blood. As he peers through the door frame, a long, pink tongue runs over his lips.  
  
''Time to go, Croc. If they're not aware of us by now, they will be eventually. I'd rather be prepared when that happens.''  
  
''Alright, Riddle man. Let's move.''  


* * *

 

The screams are precious, wonderful little things. Little gifts, like fireflies on a dark night or the steady pitter patter of summer rain. As they get louder, they get sweeter, better, and as the skin tears and flesh burns and wounds heal, the whole thing is repeated again. The screams go on, and he savors that sound.  
  
Harley bites her teeth down hard and tells herself it's not that bad, because it's not a human being getting torn open and asunder and patched together again. It's not that bad, of them, in the end. Joker harms and the girl mends, Harley assists and the prisoner deserves it.  
  
It's justice, she tells herself.  
  
But she can't help but feel just a little bad. Just a little guilty and no matter how many times she swallows, the bile keeps returning. Gentle as it pushes against her teeth, but Harley reminds herself that he earned it. Imagines that every scream, was a scream he'd ripped from others. 

Every stain of blood one he'd drawn, himself, from people much more innocent and much more good. His pain isn't his pain alone, and though Harley has hurt a lot of people and burned a lot of things -- a lot of good things -- she thinks she's got a decent sight of where the line is drawn. It might be squiggly and uneven, a pink crayon stroke on a dirt road, stepped over a few times by eager feet, sure. But never crossed so completely. Never brushed out.  
  
''Isn't this lovely?'' Joker sneers and laughs and takes another poke into the wound. ''I can  _feel_  you. All of you. It's almost kind of romantic, doncha think?''  
  
His flesh is warm and pulsating as the blood seeps over Joker's hand, into the gloves and he twists his fingers in the wound to feel it better. To dig deeper, into the body and maybe even into the soul; if such a man has one, it must be broken and delicious and Joker wants it all. He wants to dig himself so deeply inside this man, so that when he tears his way back out again, nothing will be left unbroken.  
  
''Most people like you like breaking innocent things. You like destroying purity and sure, I can see the fun in that. Like painting a moustache on the Mona Lisa. It's  _funny_ , really!'' Joker shudders at the warmth of the body transferring into his arm, up his wrist like a pleasant crawling caterpillar, working its ways through his veins. ''But that's not my type of art, you know? I like things rotten. Putrid. Soiled and damaged. Wanna know why? Well, I'll tell ya, anyway!''  
  
The Artist shakes but never trembles, screams but never cries. Aches, but tries not to suffer. Joker's voice is dark and dangerous, reaching for the threads of his mind -- the parts still lucid and unclouded by pain -- grabs for them and twists.

''You ever go on a scavenger hunt? See, when I was a kid, I liked to stroll about the junkyard.'' He gestures in enthusiasm with his free hand, flexing the other still in the wound, speaking with a wretched glee.   
  
''Sure, there were dogs to outrun and guards to sneak past, but part of that really made the trip. But the  _real_  prize was what you could find in there. All those useless, thrown away, filthy little trinkets. Isn't it just wonderful? You know, once, someone liked this toaster. Someone might have loved it, and who knows what beloved memories they have in them. And then it broke down, someone decided they didn't want it anymore, the love turned to hate and on and on it goes. I think people are like that too, in a way.''  
  
He shakes his head, smile now a pout stretched to a point where it looks unreal.  
  
''You love them and care for them, watch out for them, you know? And then you go off your rocker and everything turns on you. Your fuse breaks, your cooker stops cooking or your circuits set stuff on fire and ooops! You're in the junkyard with the chemical waste and mob kills and broken Christmas lights. Can you see the beauty in that, Picasso?''  
  
He looks at the man, eyes him closely and the Artist feels naked under his dark gaze.  
  
''All the treacherous, rotten, wasted, awful things of humans, things that just aren't good enough, fun enough, don't quite make the cut anymore, accumulating together. I don't know.'' He shivers and laughs, lightly. ''All that  _hate_ , all that monstrosity. Together and ripe for my picking! Have you tasted it? The ugly side of humanity?''  
  
He whispers softly to his ear and the sound travels like a chill down his spine, fills his chest with tar.  
  
''I'm sure you have, inside you, some time. And that's all kinds of sad, really, that you can't really get a good look at it. You only see beautiful things which you destroy but me? I see  _awful_  things and I am the one who gets to suck them dry.''  
  
Joker smiles.  
  
''People don't appreciate ugliness the way they should, you know. But I do. I appreciate you.''  
  
The pain seemed to be dulling, melding together and disappear as his body simply stopped noticing it. But the old pain quickly becomes new as Joker grabs a hold of something, anything, inside and rips.  
  
He screams his throat raw, screams until the corners of his mouth tear and screams until he can't scream any longer. Then he just laughs.  
  
And the Joker laughs with him.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw violence and suicide

It flows smoothly for a while. Normally he'd be a bit alarmed; Gordon never could quite relax in calm because he knows that a storm always follows. This calm feels different though, and maybe it’s just that he wants so badly for it to be alright, maybe he needs it, just a little more than usual, and maybe that's what makes him allow himself to relax. Breathe and calm down.  
  
Maybe just for a little moment he wants to believe things could work out and that every storm will pass. Of course, this only left him unprepared for when it all picked up again with a break-neck jerk. Gordon didn't have time to feel guilty, but he did, anyway. In a weak hope that it'd help, somehow by some strange magic; remorse couldn't heal even the smallest of wounds but it felt better, in some morbid way. Someone had to do it, didn't they?  
  
He wasn't sure just how many to expect. The clock ticked its steady way past seven, over to eight, and that one blissful hour was spent dealing with local authorities, ambulances, hospitals, families and reporters. Those god damn reporters. Had it been another lifetime, another world, he'd have wrung their necks. Though it's not all their fault. He knows he can't put the blame on one single faceless entity, the large grey mass couldn't logically be held responsible, but the entire tragedy just carried so much _blame_  and it felt better to have a scapegoat. If someone was at fault, that someone could be punished and everything would be okay.  
  
Gordon knows it's naïve, counterproductive and even harmful, to think like this. So he doesn't say anything. Tries not to acknowledge the thoughts but they remain in his consciousness, just a little louder than the rest.   
  
The suicide attempts are already on the internet. It's funny how quickly bad news spread. Amazing that someone always has a camera everywhere but never a hand to reach out.  
  
It seems some of the news channels shouldered some responsibility without him even having to tell them; maybe it'd get even better by the time of the press conference. Reaching one more reporter might save a life. At least, that's what he likes to think.  
  
Some of them didn't get the memo, though. But he supposes that's how it always is. Always gotta be that one kid in the class who just doesn't get it. Most news reports are good, words ambiguous, footage restricted, everything vague and politically correct. Neither condoning nor condemning, not too revealing but not exactly keeping any secrets. Always making sure to mention crisis hotlines, shelters, websites. The good ones are great. But the bad ones are really bad.  
  
_''You are not alone_ '' one reporter said, those brief ten minutes he had to breathe and grab another coffee as not to collapse on his feet. And maybe he was right, but despite the many people helping, the numerous officers and medical teams and teenage superheroes, he feels marooned on a particularly barren island.  
  
He hasn't slept in thirty-six hours which, though not a rare occurrence, feels like it's about to have him unravel. Maybe it's just the stress. The coffee doesn't help, but at least it's an effort.  
  
When everything falls apart again, it falls faster than he can really keep up with. Gordon moves across town without ever really noticing it. It'll be the upper West side one moment, the deepest ghetto the next. Point A becomes point Q and Gordon doesn't even notice moving. Knows he's talking but isn't sure what he's saying as his tongue turns to lead in his mouth and everything around him happens as if in a dream. He comforts a mother, calms a father, calls someone to yell at and pats a kid on the back.  
  
God, why did they have to be kids?

 

* * *

 

 

They don't have to search for long; as if the screams aren't enough guidement, the laughs certainly are. He takes a deep breath outside of the door, fearful of what might wait for him once he gets inside, but also fearful of what he's supposed to do if things go according to plan.  
  
He's been unable to reach Harvey and Ms. Kyle, he knows he can't trust Croc at all and worse than that, once he gets his hands on the Ornithologist, he's not sure what he even wants to do with him.  
  
''Why're we waitin'?'' Croc growls and Riddler jumps at the sound as he momentarily forgot he wasn't alone.  
  
''Ah, hm. Nothing.'' Edward exhales and pulls at his bowtie, trying not to feel nervous. ''Let's... ah. Let's go.''  
  
The two stare expectantly at each other for a moment, Croc with more of a condescending air to him.  
  
''Well?'' he says.  
  
Riddler gestures towards the door.  
  
''Hideous reptilian monsters first''  
  
The larger man gives a low growl, but nevertheless kicks the door down. It splits into pieces instantly, spreading across the floor and some of them knocking objects off a table. Croc squeezes in through the narrow doorway, dust and nails falling down on his broad shoulders and bouncing right off. Riddler eyes the cracked door frame warily before he takes a tentative step through.  
  
''Hey, you two weren't invited!''  
  
Joker glares at them, a hacksaw in one hand, while Harley Quinn quickly throws herself against the large table closest to the door. Croc whips her away with a smooth swing of his tail and brings the table and the tools upon it crashing down, along with Harley herself.  
  
''Hey!'' Joker narrows his eyes, mouth quirked in displeasure. ''That was rude.''  
  
''It's about t' get ruder'' Croc hisses and towers above him, his nostrils twitching at the scent of blood. He turns his large reptilian eyes towards the shivering, barely breathing form on the table and the sound that escapes his mouth makes the room tremble.   
  
''Oh, isn't it good?'' Joker smiles proudly. ''My finest work of art, I think! Or what do you kids say?''  
  
Riddler regrets looking at the man on the operating table, but even though his stomach turns he finds he can't tear his eyes away, as if pulled by a strong wave.  
  
''You had your fun'' He says with a voice that can't quite hold. ''He's mine now.''  
  
Joker sighs.  
  
''You're so  _greedy._  I'm not nearly finished!''  
  
''Yeah, well.'' Edward swallows as he finally manages to turn away, though he doesn't feel a lot better meeting the swallowing pits of Joker's eyes. ''You're finished now''  
  
Eyes appearing almost pitch black, a shadow falls on his face as he twists his mouth into a sickening grin.  
  
''Oh, Eddy boy, that's not right. That's not right at all.''  
  
He reaches behind him and picks a nail gun from the floor; Riddler barely ducks the oncoming rain of nails and one of them misses his face only by a mere millimeter. He tumbles to the floor, dust whipping around him in a thick cloud, while Croc simply chuckles.  
  
''That's cute'' He says and steps closer. Hide too thick, it deflects the long nails which bounce and scatter off him with a hard  _ping_. As he advances, Harley stirs on the floor, lifting her head only to meet Riddler's eyes.  
  
At the moment she sees him, she is quick to kick at his face with a scream. Riddler cradles his face, twisting into his body as the blood burns where it drips, steadily through his fingers and down his chin.  
  
Reaching blindly, her eyes still on the Riddler, she grabs the closest thing to her and scrambles to her feet. Her hand closing around a scalpel, she points it at him with a hard grip.  
  
''No tricks, Riddler!'' she hisses, backing away from him as she turns her eyes and the scalpel towards Croc. ''You! Get away from him!''  
  
Croc, close enough for his saliva to be dripping off his chin and into the Joker's hair, rumbles lowly as he glances at her. Seeing the scalpel, he laughs.  
  
''That'll hurt you more'n me''  
  
''Wanna bet?''  
  
''I guess anoth’r appetizer wouldn't hurt.'' Croc licks his lips. ''Me, that is.''  
  
Harley narrows her eyes into a hard glare, and without another word runs at him. Croc turns away from the Joker, arms ready, claws reaching, his tail softly sweeping across the floor in anticipation. Harley lunges at him, but as he closes his arms together, thinking her to be aiming for his chest, Croc finds his arms encage only air. Harley is faster, quickly disappearing to behind his back, and as he turns around to bring his teeth down on her, she's disappeared again. She steps down hard on his tail and as Croc roars, she climbs onto his back, slips her arm around his thick neck and stabs the scalpel straight into his eye.  
  
Howling so loudly it shakes the windows, Croc throws and thrashes to get her off him. Harley twists the scalpel, blood splattering in a smooth, even circular pattern as he throws his head around, trying with all his strength to throw her off. The pain is wild and ruthless, pummeling its way through his eye and into his skull until upside and down stop mattering.   
  
''I don't need my eye t' find you!'' Croc bellows, blinking only causing more pain and he breathes in deep, her scent as clear as day; like a rope tied to her it leads him to her new position further away, and with his head bowed he runs towards her.  
  
Harley jumps out of the way and flips over to a safe landing by the other side, while Croc crashes into the wall with raw, brutal force. Pieces of the wall, gypsym and splinters of wood crumbling down as the green body falls and fails to rise again. Riddler watches the scene unfold with rising horror, hands still cradling his nose as he pushes himself closer to the fallen table behind him and realizes that this was a really bad idea.  
  
''Now'' Harley turns towards him, eyes frightening and voice strong. ''What do I do with you?''  
  
Joker lets out a laugh, biting his lip as a way to contain it but it is without stopping; it bubbles out of his mouth and leaves his body shaking with the joy. He steadies himself against the table, slapping his thigh as he waits for the laugh to die down.  
  
''That was a nice show, boys! Unfortunately, we have to call it a day.'' He straightens and wipes some drool out of his hair, still lightly snickering. ''It was fun having ya!''  
  
Riddler curls into himself in meager hopes his own body will protect him, as Harley steps closer he knows it's probably not going to do him much good. It was a bad plan executed horribly and though he had a feeling it was all going to go south, he'd hoped it wouldn't be at this particular moment. Though, if he was to be optimistic, he supposes anything's better than being ripped apart by Killer Croc.

* * *

 

  
Kaldur does not really understand the internet but in the light of things, he cannot say he feels very good about it. The word ''suicide cult'' gets thrown around a lot and despite disagreeing with the term, he cannot deny it is not what it feels like. Two more kids have seen the broadcasts, the videos are going viral and spreading at an alarming rate. It is not just Gotham that is in danger now, but so far he has not heard about any other case.  
  
Roy says they will not be able to save them all but Kaldur is disinclined to believe his friend. As long as they fight, he says, there is hope. Hope is such a desperately important thing to hold on to.   
  
But he cannot deny that he is tired. Burdened. He is certain that if he spoke of his worries, the team would encourage him. Tell him that he is not to blame and that he cannot possibly carry every life on his shoulders. Kaldur loves them all for their devotion, their care and mercy. Despite their many flaws, they are good people. Which is why he does not tell them. They will try to take his burden away from him and that would be a disgrace, he fears. He may not be directly responsible for the falls or the attempts, but he will shoulder it anyway.  
  
He needs it, in a way. The fear makes him push a little harder, the sorrow run faster and his guilt forces him to try his very best and then a little more. It wears on him, tires him, but it is what is required for Kaldur to be certain that  _no one_  will die today.  
  
It cannot be in his good conscience to let them.

* * *

 

Harley tends to him with strong hands, forcing him up with a hold of his ear as she pushes him onto a chair. She ties his hands behind his back and twists the chair towards the center of the room, allowing Riddler full view of what takes place within it. Though Riddler tries to turn his head away, his gaze keeps being drawn back to the scene of the crime.   
  
''Does it hurt, 'casso? Are you tired, my dear pal? Do you want to go home?''  
  
Joker pats his victim on the shoulder and the two laugh in unison; Picasso's more stilted and mangled and torn, but Joker appreciates it anyway.  
  
''See, 'casso! You finally understand the joke!''  
  
Jokers eyes are void of any remorse, any discernible human emotion and Picasso knows, this moment, that he's not making it back from this. As the grip on his shoulder tightens to the point of pain, all he really feels is the blood that drips a steady stream of crimson down his cheeks, pooling under his head.  
  
''You  _broke_  my  _toy_ , Picasso.''  
  
Pale, ghostly hands slither around the head of the girl, Primrose unmoving as Joker snakes his hands into her brittle hair. Picasso watches with eyes that seem to vibrate in anger, sweat a glistening film across his skin as he tries to speak but only causes bubbles of blood to form in his mouth.  
  
''I think it's time you repaid that debt.''

 

* * *

 

 

  
''Need any help, guys?''   
  
In the glare of the sunlight, the impressive form of Captain Marvel looks almost godlike. Artemis doesn't know how to describe the absolute relief of seeing him, but it comes close to having a thousand pounds lift off her head and it strikes her speechless for a moment.  
  
''All the help we can get'' Superboy says and Billy nods.  
  
No one mentions the fact that he's  _ten years old and what is he doing here_  and even if they did, they doubt it'd make any difference. Billy's eyes radiate such courage, such bravery and juvenile hope and maybe they needed just that, the unbreakable resilience of a child to get them through this.  
  
''The others should be along soon.''  
  
They have another and there's no time to argue, and Billy is already flying there and god, he's just so fast. So incredibly fast and with a little wave he shoots off like a bullet until he disappears, is swallowed by the jungle of concrete and steel and the others are left simply staring, as if waking from a dream by being slapped in the face.  
  
Superboy turns to Artemis.  
  
''The others?''

* * *

 

 

Joker brings the hammer down again, the smoothness disappearing, erratic and sickening as his hand twitches forth and back and up and down and up and down and down again, every sound softer as bone gives way for flesh. Bruises, like coffee stains underneath the skin, is somehow even worse than when the surface finally tears. The blood splatters, snaps against his face and Joker laughs, his eyes so wide the whites seem to consume his pupils almost completely. The Artist screams, but it drowns in the laugh.  
  
And the hammer comes down until there's nothing to come down to. The girl doesn't scream, so Picasso screams for her, louder than he's done all night. And it rustles something within him, stirs something tickling and beautiful and Joker's not had a rush like this in oh, so long. It's like riding the high wave, galloping the golden horse through a riverbank of blood. 

He laughs louder, and louder still, mingling with the scream until even that becomes a laugh. And Picasso doesn't understand, for the first time in forever he can't wrap his mind around what's happening; the more he takes in the moment to try to understand it, the more confused it leaves him. This isn't funny, this isn't funny at all so why on god's forgotten Earth can't he stop  _laughing_?  
  
Laughs should be safe and good and pure; on a deeper level, humor should work as a defense mechanism. To soothe what has been distressed and to calm the nerves that refuse to settle. It's easy to hurt with a saw, with a hammer to flesh and to scare a fragile mind. But twisting and distorting what should be pure, he has to admit it takes skill.

The Joker isn't dangerous because he isn't afraid to kill or hurt or tear or ruin. He's not dangerous because he embraces chaos, spreads it like a virus during winter. He's dangerous because he can turn what should be a comfort in darkness against you. Hit you where it hurts, truly, deeply. Beyond flesh and bone.  
  
Picasso wishes he could just stop laughing, because that's what he  _wants_. To drag him into his sick little world where nothing makes sense unless it doesn't; and Picasso doesn't belong there. Not with him, not with his kind. He's not like them, he's not like anyone and he shouldn't be laughing at all. But he can't stop because, in the right light, even death is kind of funny.  
  
'' _Drop_  the hammer''  
  
Joker stops mid-movement, hammer still in the air and turns slowly towards the voice, only to come face to face with a gun. Harley's hand is trembling, so she grips the gun with her other hand, her eyes steady even though her mind is at war.  
  
''Harl, if you want to play you'll have to wait for your turn.''  
  
''I'm sorry, puddin', I really am, but I can't let you do this.''  
  
Her eyes water, just at the edges but she bites back the remorse and the guilt. That's Harley for ya, Joker supposes. Loyal to a fault, going through fire and brimstone even if it kills her. Sanity doesn't matter much in love. But even love can't blind her to all things.  
  
''Harley. Put down the gun.''  
  
The Riddler gives her a pointed look from behind, still strapped to the chair he shakes his head  _no no no he'll_ kill _you_. Harley glances at him, hesitating as the shaking worsens and her heart feels stuck in a tug-o-war between a small sense of right and wrong; still lingering from the olden days when love wouldn't blind her to madmen's work. Harley thinks the worst thing in the world must be to hurt someone you love, much worse than any physical pain and suffering. And she does love him. So insanely much and she knows she shouldn't but she does, she truly, truly does but she can't let this go on any longer.  
  
''Puddin', she's just a  _kid_ ''  
  
''Put. The. Gun. Down. Harley.''  
  
Harley's eyes shift, into something harder and angrier, something foul that she thinks must have slipped into her, caught from him like a bug.   
  
Usually it works to harm her, but today it will be an advantage.


	24. Chapter 24

Picasso can't stop laughing because if this isn’t pain, well, he doesn't want to know pain at all. And it's not really funny, none of it is, but for all he tries he can't cease cackling, even as he bites down on his tongue to stop the sound, the chuckle bubbles through. He bites down harder on the muscle as it cramps and spasms in his mouth, eyes watering and he bites down harder still because it has to  _stop_ , this has to  _end this isn't funny_. 

The sharp clang of teeth smashing against each other as they pierce through the muscle, the wet little noise as his tongue rips open; the pain itself opens his mouth into a half-scream half-laugh and he nearly chokes on the little stump of tongue as it falls down his throat; the blood fills his mouth, rich and suffocating.  
  
Ah, he thinks. So this is death, then?  
  
How utterly disappointing.  
  


* * *

 

 

''You're having a party without us?'' Riddler knows that voice, and the contrast of its soft hum against the crackling in his head and the pounding of his heart, he feels like he's just been saved by a guardian angel.  
  
But when Riddler turns towards Catwoman, his heart immediately crumples into panic at the sight of Batman by her side.  
  
''Batsie!'' Joker announces in pure delight. ''What a nice surprise!''  
  
Batman briefly eyes the operating table and the bloody form upon it, looks at Primrose and turns back to Joker, his jaw infinitely more tense as he speaks through gritted teeth.  
  
''This ends now.''

 

* * *

 

  
Superman's there too, and Giovanni's daughter and this kid named Rocket he hasn't really met before but he's heard a lot of good about her. Wally's too exhausted to register much of anything anyway, it's all just kind of a blur to him and he's got no idea of how many people exactly are involved in this, or what they’re really doing. He recognizes the red and blue of the man of steel first of all and feels a little safer, because Superman's thing was to save the day. And everything was usually fine by then.  
  
M'gann's eyes are a stained red but she hasn't cried for hours, and Roy hasn't screamed anymore but when he speaks his voice is raspy, rough and Wally guesses he doesn't have any voice left in him. Or maybe it's just the anger that's subsided, as they're all kind of numb, all kind of cold and hungry and tired and he's had to vomit on one more occasion, mostly from exhaustion.   
  
They've reached their limits so long ago there's no longer any clear sight of where the line is drawn. Even Superboy is finding it hard to keep going if he can't get some rest soon, and he's even stronger than any of them. He might be able to keep it up a few hours more, five, six, who knows, but Wally isn't Superboy and Artemis and Kaldur seem a few shades paler than usual.  
  
''Okay, Kid Flash, go and rest.''   
  
Wally can't really remember later who it was that spoke to him, at the time; when their features blur Wally realizes he can barely see anymore. Can't really breathe as a knot ties itself in his chest, restricts and squeezes his ribs together.  
  
''We're... we're not... done yet...''  
  
Wally can't even speak properly and he knows he's not exactly winning this argument. The other person must know it too, judging by that tone in their voice and there's a strong hand on his shoulder that promises Wally everything will be alright.  
  
''Go rest, Wally. You're going to collapse if you keep going.''  
  
''But...''  
  
''We've got reinforcements. I think it's calming down, too, so go home. Rest.''  
  
Wally looks around him, though he can't make out much of anything he can hear it, the chaos of voices and cars and sirens echo dully in his head like someone pushed it inside a sauce-pan and gave it a good slam.  
  
''Kay... I'll... I'll go. But I'll be back.''  
  
The hand on his shoulder gives a faint little squeeze.

 

* * *

 

 

Joker's not usually good at holding up in a fist fight. It just seems a bit too easy this time. It's not just a lack of speed, or attention, it's like he's not even trying to avoid the punches and the kicks and when he goes down he goes down with a smile a little wider than usual.  
  
Catwoman's by Harley on the floor almost the instant she gets in through the window; hands on her shoulders, gently soothing with a cooing voice as the blonde stares at her hands, trembling, the gun still in her ghostly grip.  
  
''I couldn't stop him'' she says.  
  
''I know. I know.''  
  
''He's dead.''  
  
''He's not dead.''  
  
''I  _saw_  him --''  
  
Catwoman shakes her head, gives her a look that tells her not to keep talking. Not to keep thinking and Harley hugs herself close, wondering when this was what her normal days became like. How she keeps ending up in this place when it's not exactly where she wants to be.   
  
''Just stay here and breathe, okay?''  
  
Harley nods slowly.  
  
Catwoman takes care of Riddler who doesn't really put up much of a fight either, but it's more out of resignation, shock holding him too hard. Selina's not sure Riddler's perfectly aware of her; he just keeps his eyes on the bodies, so closely watching that everything besides them blurs out of his vision. The blood is all he can smell, like it's crawled into him, seeped through his nose and eaten through his brain. His hands shake, but he doesn't seem to notice when Selina drags him off the chair.  
  
The Joker goes down laughing like usual, squirming on the floor, clutching at his stomach. His face is a mess. Selina noticed the force was heavier in the swings, the knuckles pressed a bit too deeply into the pale, sunken skin but she doesn't say anything about it. Bruce needs it, and though a thief at times, she's not entirely without honor.  
  
''Jesus Christ'' Catwoman breathes, more bitter about the fact that she's not surprised at any of this.  
  
''Are they alive?''  
  
She doesn't really want to step closer to any of the bodies, but does so anyway because there's no way she's getting out of there otherwise, away from the rotten smell of the wood and the moist and she's sure there's ought to be mold behind the boards. Batman tends to Killer Croc's body as Catwoman inches closer.  
  
She listens for breathing, but what she hears as she leans closer to the man's broken, twisted body is a soft, ever so gentle chuckling.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

''I'm sorry'' Wally says long after Dick's legs have fallen asleep.  
  
''For what?''  
  
''For not being there, for not... for crying and for barging in here all the time in the middle of the night and day and just waking you and I'm sorry I couldn't be there and I'm sorry I couldn't stop any of this from happening and I -- ''  
  
''Wally, Wally, stop, you're rambling.'' Wally's voice picks up to such a pace the words are no longer discernible. Dick tears away from him, pushing the other boy up by his shoulder so he can have a good look at him. ''You're a mess and I can't understand you and you need to calm down.''  
  
Wally takes a deep breath and nods loosely, his green eyes wandering around to everything not Dick.  
  
''Tell me what happened.'' Dick says and bores his eyes into his friend because he knows and Wally knows the speedster won't stand a chance against him when he looks at him like that. ''Tell me what's wrong.''  
  
Wally doesn't know what to do and the panic is back again, kicking in his chest because he can't tell him, he can't do that to him because Dick would freak out and blame himself because he's a Bat and that's what stupid stubborn Bats do and Wally's not prepared for this sort of thing.  
  
''I can't -- You need to talk to me and you need to do it now and I'm not leaving until you  _talk_  to me because I don't want -- I don't --''  
  
''You don't want..?''  
  
Wally doesn't want to have to think more about jumpers and death and suicide and he doesn't want to close his eyes and see their faces or hear the crying relatives or the shutters of cameras and he doesn't ever want it to happen again because he could be late, too late, he could fail next time or miss being there at all and Wally wants this to stop, right now, he wants it to stop destroying everything.  
  
''I can't stay for long, I have, the... the  _mission_  it's, I have to get back within two hours and I was just hoping I could get some sleep although I doubt it but food would be nice and I just needed to  _see_  you and talk to you and I can't do this, I... I  _can't_ , Dick.''  
  
He takes a deep breath and wipes at his face; only now does the embarrassment really break through to him. Wally's face turns an almost inhuman shade of red and it gets harder than ever to meet the other's gaze.  
  
Dick bites his lip and has no idea of what to say. Wally takes a shaking breath just for the lump in his throat to grow bigger, and he tells his brain to stop short-circuiting but it doesn't want to cooperate.  
  
''Something made you go up on that ledge'' Wally says and Dick's chest turns cold. ''Something made you do it and I want to know what and I want to help. In any way, I don't care how small, I just want to  _help_  you.''  
  
Dick looks away and only now does Wally dare to glance at him.  
  
''I can't... I can't lose you, man'' Wally mumbles. ''I  _can't._ ''  
  
Dick doesn't respond because he knows he can't promise him that. He wants to, wants to say anything that will make Wally stop trembling and he wants to ask about what mission he's working that has him so worn out, but he doesn't because it's obviously tearing him apart and Dick just wants to take his mind off it.  
  
''Wally'' Dick says very slowly. ''Right now listening to me talk is the last thing you need.'' Wally opens his mouth to protest but is tired enough for Dick to run him over. '' _No_. Don't argue. You need to sleep and you need to eat.''  
  
'' _I_  need to sleep and eat?''  
  
Dick rolls his eyes and begins to drag the taller boy into the room.  
  
''Don't start with that.'' 

Though the warmth of Dick is enticing and his smell so close, Wally pushes himself off him.  He just looks too brittle.   
  
''Wally!'' Dick snarls in a true Batman kind of voice and he grabs a hold of Wally, feeling like the only thing keeping the boy upright. ''Cut it out! You're barely standing!''  
  
''Lies''  
  
Dick growls.  
  
''Eat, sleep and... and we'll talk. Okay? We'll. We'll talk. Whatever you want but you're  _worrying_  me.''  
  
''You promise?''  
  
Dick sighs.  
  
''Sure, whatever.''  
  
''No, not whatever, Dick. Do you promise?''  
  
''Fine, fine, I promise!''  
  
Wally gives a small smile, one which stops Dick in his movements as he simply looks at the other, a soft warmth rolling through his body and laying like a blanket, a comfort Dick's missed. But when Wally makes a stumbling step, his chest turns that awful kind of cold again, and without warning Dick starts dragging Wally again before he pushes him into bed.  
  
''Hey! What the -- ''  
  
Dick pulls the heavy comforter over his friend and almost brutally tucks him in. Wally just stares at him with wide and incredulous eyes as Dick fixates him with a narrow glare. Wally forgot how scary the boy could be when he really wanted to.  
  
''You stay here and I'll go get you some food. I can't have you passing out and hitting your head. Alfred hates getting blood on the carpet.''  
  
Wally blinks in confusion.  
  
'' _Stay_  here.'' Dick says sternly. Then, in a softer tone, he adds ''I'll be right back. Okay?''  
  
Wally nods weakly.  
  
''Good.''

* * *

  
  
So far it hasn't been as crazy as he'd feared; Gordon had half expected every kid in town to jump, but it's been hours since the latest and though the jumpers were all too many, things could always have been worse. The others are patrolling with the officers, told to be as discreet as possible but there was that apologetic tone to his voice; they've been pushed too far already and there's only so much responsibility he can put on them, Gordon knows all too well how good they are at blaming themselves. He's tried to get the sidekicks to rest, or at least eat, but to his very small surprise they have declined any such offers.  
  
Gordon has called Barbara every third hour to make sure she's okay, and though it's broad daylight by now part of him wishes Batman would show up. As if everything would be okay then. Reporters are screaming in the lobby, and Bullock has the gruesome task of chasing them off. Jim rubs at his eyes and silently dreads and wills the press conference to commence, though he still has a good while to go.   
  
''Commissioner, you okay?'' Montoya asks in her own special tone of concern.  
  
''No.'' Gordon sighs. ''But I guess that's a good thing.''  
  
The officer regards him, but says nothing. Gordon enjoys the one small moment of silence and hopes that this calm will last. Of course, he never has quite that luck and he's not even a little bit surprised when the commotion in the lobby significantly worsens. Rubbing at tired eyes underneath the glasses, Jim gets up on aching feet.  
  
''Jesus Christ, what is it  _now_?''  
  
Montoya looks up with alarm in her eyes, and following her gaze with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Gordon's eyes fall on Bullock.

  
''Commish! Quick! Ya gotta come quick!''

Gordon mutters something under his breath and drags himself away from the bench. His rest fleeting, and the aching returned to his back the moment he moves, Gordon silently makes his way over to Bullock. The reporters barely being held at bay by other officers are now suspiciously silent. Which, he's learned, is never a good thing.  
  
People never really leave him nice gifts anymore, and this one isn't much different. Five tied up high priority criminals, no less than three of which are currently wanted after an escape from Arkham. They all stare at them in awe for a long, quiet moment, before Gordon remembers that he's not just some random onlooker and the criminals are at his doorstep for a very good reason.  
  
''Don't just stand there!'' he hisses, gesturing at the closest officers. ''Take them in!''  
  
Still a bit surprised, eyes not fully back to normal size, the officers jerk into action and quickly take care of the criminals; Killer Croc being muzzled and tied several times more than the others, unmoving he has to be carried by five large officers and Gordon suspects by the slackness of him that he's either drugged or in really bad shape. Maybe both. 

The Joker is bound almost as tightly as Croc, giggling quietly to himself, eyes swollen shut and mouth a broken row of what used to be teeth. Harley Quinn is only tied by the wrists, despite that appearing distant as she stares at her knees. The Riddler is next to her, bound just as little, staring too, and a bad feeling grows in Gordon's gut.  
  
''When were they left here?''  
  
Gordon glares at all of them but no one seems to have an answer.   
  
''Come on, people, it's broad daylight, five of Gotham's most wanted. Somebody's gotta seen something!''  
  
Their eyes are as empty as their mouths.  
  
''They just...'' One officer speaks up. ''One minute they weren't there and another they were?''  
  
Gordon rubs his face, heaving a heavy, frustrated sigh.  
  
''Shouldn't we... give them medical attention? Joker looks pretty... messed up. And I d'no if Croc's even alive.''  
  
Gordon gives the officer a dark glare that silences him almost immediately.  
  
''Never mind that'' Bullock says, kneeling down by the Riddler who glances at him with narrow eyes. ''We's got bigger problems.''  
  
Gordon frowns and moves to his side, pushing some reporters who have regained their ability to move out of the way. Kneeling down by the larger man, he sees a note in his hand, attached to Riddler's jacket with a safety pin and a piece of string.  
  
''Jesus. ''  
  
''Yeeep.''  
  
Gordon sighs and, having lost all hope of this day getting any better, gets to his feet.  
  


* * *

 

 

When Dick returns, Wally is already snoring. Not that he'd expected anything else, but Dick still can't help but sigh as he puts the tray down on the nightstand. He grabs his desk chair to sit down next to the giant bed, giving his friend a long, tired look.  
  
The redhead snores worse than an earthquake rumbles, his goggles still on his head and hair tangled in tiny knots of sweat and dirt. Dick gently takes the goggles off him, turning them quietly in his hands. He swallows against the dryness of his mouth but the saliva seems only to make it worse.  
  
''Wally?'' Dick murmurs. Wally keeps snoring.  
  
Dick glances at him, at his so very red hair and dirt speckled cheeks, the many freckles he's tried counting many times. Something aches in him because Wally just looks like he ran to the edge of the world and back, and every muscle of Dick hurts as he imagines how Wally's must hurt, and he wishes he could help, somehow.  
  
He stretches his hand out, gently, but lets it hover over Wally's as if he's afraid. He withdraws again and places the goggles on the nightstand, a deep sigh tearing through his body.  
  
''You know'' Dick rubs at his face, leaning into the chair as if boneless. ''It's not... it's not that I don't  _want_  to talk to you.''  
  
Wally stretches out like a cat under the covers, undisturbed in the depths of his dreams.

''You're my best pal and... I trust you. More than I trust anyone. I just... It just doesn't feel fair, you know? To tell you. I mean. It's all things anyone could live without. I can't, but... but you can. And I don't want to take that from you.''  
  
Dick looks away as he suddenly feels heavy, his throat thick.  
  
''But... I can't really ... just carry it all by myself even though I know I  _should_  but... but it's just hard. And... I'm scared I'm pushing you away and I don't want that, I never wanted that, it's just... I can't be sure I won't make it worse, that you won't... think differently or be different around me if you... if you know.''  
  
Dick sighs. He looks at Wally's sleeping form, the even rise and fall of his chest for a long moment as the lump in his throat expands, stretches into the rest of his chest until it hurts to breathe. Dick takes a deep breath and leans his head against his palm.  
  
''He started with breaking my fingers.'' Dick takes a deep breath. ''He'd... ah... He... He really liked my gloves, too, and... and when...'' He can't fight the shake to his voice even though he's got no reason to be embarrassed. ''When he'd broken them it wasn't so bad, I mean it was  _bad_  but not... I mean I've broken worse, it's... when he pulled my gloves  _off_...''  
  
Wally stirs, causing Dick to jump in his chair. Wally mumbles something indecipherable in his sleep and stretches an arm around the pillow.   
  
''This isn't right, is it?'' Dick sighs. ''You deserve to hear it when you can actually... well...  _hear_  it.''   
  
Dick draws a hand through his hair and gives Wally a look.  
  
''You deserve at least that.''  
  
He finds Wally's hand, curled around the corner of the pillow, and grabs it in his own.

 

* * *

 

  
  
Wally gradually returns to the waken world with a dull pain churning in his arm. Through the smog of sleep it takes him far too long to fully register the pain, and as he does it flares right up his arm like wildfire. Wally jerks up into a sitting position, momentarily forgetting where he is or why. Until he recognizes the room, marvels at how insanely soft the bed is and how it nearly swallows him. Wally irritably tears his arm away from Dick.  
  
'' _Dude_!'' Wally whines. ''You  _pinched_  me? Seriously?!''  
  
Dick gives him a dull look.  
  
''Quit whining. I had to wake you up somehow and shaking you didn't help. You were out cold.''  
  
Wally looks sheepishly at him.  
  
''Guess I was really tired.''  
  
Dick doesn't respond as he shoves the tray of food into Wally's face. Wally flinches, but at the sight of Alfred's out-of-this-world turkey sandwiches and a tall glass of lemonade he quickly forgets all else. The world fades away from him as for the following minute all that exists is him and the food.  
  
Dick watches him in mild fascination and half expects Wally to choke, but the food disappears without any greater complications and when Wally is done he leans back against the pillow with a content sigh.  
  
''Thanks'' he says.  
  
Dick grimaces and places the tray back on the night stand.  
  
''I'm sorry it's not much but uh...'' He hands five protein bars to the other. ''Here.''  
  
''For me?'' Wally blinks.  
  
''For the road.''  
  
Wally watches him in slight surprise before he grabs the bars and puts them into his snack compartments.  
  
''Thanks.''  
  
Dick shrugs in slight discomfort.  
  
''I can't let you sleep longer, though I want to, but uh... you said two hours, right?'' Wally nods. ''Well, we've got about twenty more minutes of that.''  
  
Wally look immediately disappointed.  
  
''Wally...'' Dick tries, hesitantly, and when Wally actively avoids his eyes, something twists in his stomach. ''Is everything... okay?''  
  
The speedster gives a crooked smile.  
  
''No. But it will be.'' 

A sudden feeling of cold washes over Dick as he realizes something.  
  
''It's not... it's... it's not _them_...? Is it... him?'' Dick can't manage to bring his voice up to more than a whisper.  
  
Wally shakes his head and it feels better because he's only half lying.  
  
''No, it's not  _him_. It's... It's just nothing good comes of knowing about it and it's nothing, really, it's... Just don't think about it.''  
  
Dick remains unconvinced but Wally looks distressed as it is, so he decides not to prod. There are always other ways to find out.  
  
''Okay.'' Dick says.   
  
Wally regards him for a long moment during which they both feel very small.  
  
''Can I... uhm...'' Wally fidgets, realizes he doesn't know how to speak properly and simply extends his arms. ''Hug?''  
  
Dick frowns at him like he's an idiot. Wally's just about to take his arms down in a sign of rejection, when Dick rolls his eyes and leans into the embrace, hugging him tightly. Wally doesn't dare to breathe, in case it somehow will ruin it, and Dick doesn't dare to think at all.

  
''I missed this.'' Wally says in a low voice.  
  
''Yeah. Me too.''  
  
''Thanks for uh... For letting me come here and eat all your food.''  
  
Wally laughs sheepishly, cheeks turning bright red. Dick pulls back to give him a strange look, before he shakes his head and hands Wally his goggles.  
  
''Just make sure you... come back in one piece, okay?''  
  
Wally swallows down the dread, then nods.  
  
''One piece. Got it.''  
  


* * *

 

 

Jim feels his soul nearly leave his body, shocked into a wild jump at the sound of a familiar voice. He gives an irritated huff and straightens himself, glaring at Batman tiredly from over the brim of his glasses.  
  
''Jesus Christ'' he sighs. ''You're still out? It's nearly two in the afternoon''  
  
''I take it interrogation has started.''  
  
''Yeah. Didn't get much out of Dent, go figure. Harley Quinn just wanted to go back to Arkham. We haven't talked to Riddler yet but the state he was in I doubt he'll say much...'' Gordon rubs at his neck.   
  
''Will you be detaining them here?''  
  
''Arkham should be operable within another two hours. They've sealed off the damaged wing. It'll be cramped but it's a hell of a lot better than keeping them here. Since they had no major injuries, we figured we might as well make use of the time.''  
  
''No major injuries?'' Batman's voice is skeptic, and his face is stern as he glances through the one-way-mirror at the giggling Joker.  
  
''Well, except for Croc. He's uh... he's in a coma. The Ornithologist was fine, though. Not a scratch but... we've had to sedate him for now. He just won't stop... laughing.'' Gordon sighs. ''I'm getting too damn old for this freakshow of a town.''  
  
Batman's face holds a look that resembles sympathy, but it disappears before Gordon can notice it.  
  
''I suppose you'll be wanting a minute with them?''  
  
Batman looks at him quietly, and Gordon knows enough to take it as a 'yes'. Staring at the man for a little too long, Batman gets the unsettling feeling that the commissioner is going to ask him something.  
  
''I have a request.'' Gordon says. ''Actually, it's more than a request. Consider it a demand.''  
  
Batman frowns.  
  
''A demand?''  
  
''I uh...'' Despite himself, he squirms a bit under the heavy gaze. ''I need to see Robin.''  
  
Batman seems to freeze for the briefest of seconds; Gordon feels the air tensing considerably, and when Batman starts speaking his voice is twice as flat as usual.  
  
''Why?''  
  
''If we're going to keep doing this, if we're... Dancing this dance, you and I, I need to see him. Now, I put a lot of risk into this... partnership, or whatever you want to call it. I could get fired for letting you talk to them but I'm willing to do it because I believe in you. But every believer needs some proof every now and then. A sign, if you will.''  
  
Batman thinks his words over. He wants to say no, already has a handful of explanations not to agree to it, but the look on the commissioner's face leaves no doubt that he will stay true to his word and exclude him from whatever part of the investigation he likes. This is, as far as the man's concerned, non-negotiable. Batman could continue on his own, but Jim is right in that he owes him a lot. Their partnership, well, Gordon is a friend. And, if Dick is up to it, it could help stifle some suspicion regarding Robin's absence. Still, he's not quite sure it's a good idea.  
  
''Well?'' Jim says. ''What's it gonna be?''  
  


* * *

 

  
  
He's only going into the kitchen for a glass of water, having been in a strange sort of daze ever since Wally left Dick can't take in much of anything. Worry churns in his head, pushed back down deep because Wally can take care of himself, but it's hard not to be a little bit paranoid because Wally was acting so weird, so frightened that it frightened Dick, too. The secrecy about the entire thing made him twice as uncomfortable and though Dick tries not to think about it, he can't quite stop the background chatter of paranoia in his head.

   
When he finally gets one very clear and very simple emotion, namely the feeling of thirst, Dick clings onto that and refuses to acknowledge anything else. So even though he'd rather not, he leaves his room, takes the plate with him and heads for the kitchen. Just to do something; maybe if he moves enough he'll somehow work the tension out of his body.  
  
He waits until Alfred, the godlike man who seems to possess no natural human urges,  _finally_  has to go to the bathroom and Dick gets enough space to breathe. He knows they mean well, but the constant hovering around him is making him feel suffocated. Dick can't breathe around them, can't even move without being constantly on edge just in case they misinterpret, just in case they get too close and the proximity of them that had been getting better, now it's all coming back to him. Even Alfred is telling his instincts to run but he can't because that'd be counterproductive. Dick is so tired of getting pushed backwards by his own fears.

Besides that, Alfred's been dodgy all day. The internet suddenly doesn't work so when Dick tries to surf for some clues as to what could be going on with Wally's mission, any big event in the news or just some message board speculations, he knows something's wrong. The TV doesn't seem to be working either no matter how many loose smacks he gives it, and with the glass of water trembling in his hand Dick decides that something bad is going on.  
  
So when Alfred tears himself away and disappears into a bathroom, Dick is quick on his feet. He worried he'd be rusty, after all this time on the sidelines, but reflexes are rooted much too deeply. It's even easier than riding a bike because Dick's body seems to know exactly how to move to get to point B with the most possible speed and least amount of noise. Not that he isn't always very quiet with his steps, but the pure stealth of him is surprising. Before he knows it he's in front of the old grandfather clock. Dick holds his breath, plunges in, thoughts on pause and he doesn't release his breath until he's descended the long, winding set of stairs.  
  
It feels strange to be here again. After so much time the place seems almost like a dream of a long lost home. A place he remembers well in feeling but not in memory, and though it was always close to heart it was still at such an incredible distance from him. Dick's hit by a sudden sharp pain that climbs all the way from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, tingles in his teeth as he takes in the damp, stuffy smell. Like clean and dirty at the same time, with all the high tech state of the art toys and the dirty rocks and bat droppings. Alfred tries to clean it best he can but even one man such as him can't keep it perfectly spotless. And though most people don't really like it, because it's dirty and cold and dark he can't think of any other place that feels safer. The cave is a lot like Gotham and Gotham is his home now.  
  
He tries to clear his head with a gentle little shake, clenches his trembling hands into determined little fists and sits down in the large chair. The pace of his heart picks up remarkably, and Dick types at the keyboard almost as if possessed as he feels just a little more  _alive_  and god, he didn't even realize how much he missed this place.  
  
Of course the internet still works in the Batcave, which just makes Dick really doubt the mysterious disappearance of it at the mansion was an accident. Not sure what he's really looking for and, not entirely convinced he wants to know, Dick types the date of the day and any keyword that seems relevant. It takes the computer only seconds before it's hurled several suggestions at him. Dick keeps his eyes open and his hands on the keys, shaking even worse now. He briefly considers shutting down the computer and just going back to his room. Some things were best left alone.  
  
But his body moves on its own, takes his hands away from the keyboard and turns his head up to face the screen. Though he stares for a long, long moment, it takes a while before he actually understands what's shown before him.  
  
The first thought that strikes him is  _no_. No, no, no, no, it has to be a fake. It has to be some stupid joke and he's going to find whoever did it and posted it and lied and he's going to rearrange their god damn teeth because  _you don't joke about this no no god damn it no_. Then, everything disappears, as if his mind opens up and swallows it, sucking it into his core until there is just a cavity and Dick doesn't feel a thing at all.

Just stares at the events that unfold, the videos of people falling, jumping, his name on every page and video and article and there's footage of him too. Huh. Look at that. And he can't really respond properly at all but he has to do something or the hole inside is going to destroy him. Dick starts analyzing camera angles and nitpicking every little word and technique and even the composition as if he's some movie critic and by the time he's watched it all, Dick has written complete essays in his head.  
  
There is a tastelessness that curls around his mouth and Dick's limbs suddenly feel so light, vibrating, he half expects his molecules to divide and spread into the air. The corner of his vision blurs in and out and Dick feels a surge, an eruption well within his chest of cold, brutally cold waves of emotion that he can't fully understand. As if a veil has lowered itself between his brain and his heart and Dick knows this is all bad, very, very bad but he can't quite let it sink in just yet.  
  
Alfred finds him later, staring at video players stopped and articles scrolled to the end and though it's not the worst thing he'd feared, it's still worse than he'd hoped.  
  
''Master Dick?'' he tries tentatively, moving very slowly towards the boy who turns his head to him as if sleeping.  
  
Alfred gives him a worried look but doesn't come any closer. Dick doesn't fully seem to realize.

   
''Master Dick, I think it would be wise to return upstairs.''  
  
When Alfred closes down the windows on the screen, the boy doesn't complain. Neither does he object when Alfred beckons him closer with his hand, gently putting it on his shoulder and shepherding him back upstairs.


	25. Chapter 25

Not much is to be gained from the interrogations. They are things Bruce has already figured out, and the things they _can_ tell him they refuse to. Joker asks him if he'd appreciated the joke, because by god, it was a funny one. The girl, with all her extraordinary powers, a godlike gift one could say, had the one fatal flaw of being unable to heal herself. Joker laughs for several straight minutes at mentioning that, tears springing to his eyes as he puts his head against the table and cackles.

The Ornithologist would have been dead by now, too, if it wasn't for her. Her very last act was to heal a man who by all rights deserved to be dead, and that, Joker says, is the best part of it all.  
  
Batman only roughs him up a little bit, considering how much he wants to hurt him. The other interrogations produce similar results. Harley just wants to go back to Arkham, because she thinks it might be a good idea, this time. Just to sort out her thoughts. Riddler and Two-Face remain tight lipped, and the Ornithologist is still under sedation.

Croc’s had even worse of luck, as the wall knocked him out cold, and according to the doctors they have no real way of knowing when or if he'll wake from his coma. His brain has swollen, but they say at least his pupils and pain receptors are responding to stimuli, which is always a good thing. Bruce doubts if he could speak to him he'd say anything useful, anyway.  
  
Arkham will be operational before evening, some of its inmates still on free foot, but the GPCD has been surprisingly adept at gathering the escapees together. Jim tells him not to worry, but knows all too well that he will, anyway.  
  
Batman interrupts the interrogations when it’s clear that they’re getting nowhere. Like a shadow, he slips out of the police station and heads on home. It’s far too late in the day for him to even be out, but these aren't exactly normal circumstances. Selina asks to go with him, to check on the kid and everything, and Bruce almost considers it until Alfred calls and urges him home. His tone of voice is enough for Bruce to oblige. Many things still need to be done, but they can all wait. 

Reaching the mansion through one of many secret tunnels, he enters from the cave and doesn't even bother taking a peek through the windows. He's dealt with the press before, but has a feeling they'll be worse than usual this time around. Instead he heads up to Dick's room. He doesn't even need to ask Alfred what's happened as his face says it all.  
  
''He saw the news.''   
  
''Yes. I... I am so very sorry, master Bruce, but ---''  
  
Bruce puts up a hand to silence him.  
  
''Is he inside?''  
  
Alfred silently nods and steps to the side. As Bruce opens the bedroom door and steps inside, he can practically taste the guilt hanging in the air.  
  
''Dick?''  
  
The boy sits in one of the large windows, glancing out at the backyard, curled into the curtain in a way Bruce hasn't seen him do in years. Bruce steps a little bit closer, not sure just how volatile the child could be at this moment, but decides to take the safe approach and stops a good distance away; enough to see his facial movements, but not so close that he'll have the time to make a move.  
  
''Hey.'' Dick says flatly. ''You're home late.''  
  
''I had a lot to take care of.''  
  
''I bet.''  
  
Bruce grimaces at the bitterness to the voice, weighing the right, parental words in his mind and coming up distressingly short.   
  
''You blame me, don't you?'' Dick mumbles, voice thick as if the words are too large for his throat. ''You think it's my fault... It _is_ my fault''  
  
Bruce hasn't moved at all but Dick can hear him judge him. Hears his disappointment and his hate, and it makes Dick hate him too, just a little.  
  
''Stop.''  
  
Dick jumps at the sound, unprepared to hear him speak after the man has been standing immobile for so long. Carefully, Bruce steps closer, slowly as every inch his body moves causes the boy to shiver.  
  
''Just stop, Dick.''  
  
Dick pulls his knees in close as some sort of shield, tries to protect himself from the man because Bruce sounds so angry.  
  
He is crouching in front of him now, seeking out his eyes stubbornly but Dick refuses to yield. Bruce stretches out his hand but lets it hover. Dick flinches, preparing for a slap, preparing for a disaster.  
  
''No, no, Dick, look at me'' He puts his hand on his shoulder, fights the urge to retract as a violent shiver that runs through the boy transfers through his own arm and spreads down his spine. Bruce keeps his grip soft, but his hand is heavy on Dick's shoulder. ''I said  _look_  at me.''  
  
Dick complies only because he fears the punishment of disobedience. Fears the pain of knuckles against his jaws, of scalpels through his flesh and hands over his chest, a breath down his neck and in his ear -- Bruce refuses to tear his eyes away when Dick has closed his own tightly.  
  
''Focus, Dick. Stay with me.'' Bruce knows he's cornering him, he's just a boy and it's getting dangerous, still his body won't move and instead he gently gives the small shoulder a little squeeze. ''Listen to me. Listen.''  
  
Dick breathes heavily through his nose as he finally meets his guardian's gaze. Bruce doesn't know if the fear in his ward's eyes is because of him. He deeply hopes it's not.  
  
''You didn't know this would happen. You didn't plan for or ask for this.''  
  
The boy trembles underneath Bruce's hand, at first he looked to be fighting tears but there is so much anger in his eyes now; an anger Bruce hadn't anticipated. 

''I should have said this to you a long time ago and I'm... sorry, that I haven't. I'm sorry I haven't been there for you like I should, but I can't change that now.''  
  
''Let go of me!'' Dick spits and throws his hand off; as Bruce moves to put it back on him again the boy hops to the floor.  
  
Bruce just looks at him in an eerie sort of calm, a patience learned through years of hard experiences. Dick glares at his hand like it’s holding a weapon, and though Bruce makes no more moves to touch him, Dick’s muscles won’t relax.   
  
''This is not your fault. Alright? We are doing  _everything_  we can Dick and I promise you, no one will die.''  
  
Dick clutches at his stomach as if someone pushed a fist right through, grabbed a hold of something and gave it a good, long twist. And it's so stupid that he has to unravel like this in front of Bruce. Bruce looks at him not like he understands, but like he's trying to.  
  
''It's okay, Dick.''  
  
He's not sure what it is that's supposed to be so awfully good and alright with the world, but it doesn't really matter, because Bruce is the first person to sound like he actually believes it, and Dick always trusts in Bruce to know. To be right. Batman’s always right about everything.  
  
''I didn't mean for this to happen'' Dick says with a tearing voice. ''I didn't mean for it to get worse, I didn't  _know_  they were going to be there and see me and this isn't what I wanted, Bruce, it's not... It's not how it was supposed to happen.''  
  
''I know.''  
  
He takes a deep set of breaths, not really helping as he can't fight the dizziness, the utter weight of his body as the events of the day haven't fully managed to sink in, and the more time that passes, the deeper they cut. When Dick thinks he's really come to understand the magnitude of the situation, a new wave hits him twice as hard as the last and he wonders when, if ever, it will stop.

  
''You are not a bad person'' Bruce puts a large but gentle hand to hold the side of his head, catching his gaze and refusing to let go. ''And you’re  _not_  ruined. You’re not filthy or damaged. You’re  _not_  a failure and you are not weak. You did everything you could and I'm not angry with you.'' When Dick tries to look away Bruce gently nudges his head ''Listen carefully, Dick, because this is important.''  
  
Bruce looks at him strangely, like reading a book in a language he isn't fluent in, picking up only little words here and there until he has an idea of what it's about, but not enough to fully get the story. With a small frown, Bruce moves his hand from his head and instead encloses the back of Dick's shoulders, holding him in one of his rare embraces.  
  
''The fault lies with him. He did this, not you.''  
  
Dick doesn't reply as he sheds all prohibitions, and simply allows himself to be thirteen years old. Allows himself to be shocked and scared and remorseful and angry, allows himself to be small and, fighting the small shiver of unease at the contact, allows Bruce to do what he can.  
  
''It was  _never_  your fault.''

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bruce stays with him for the rest of the day, and though the glances he keeps throwing aren’t very discreet, he’s not exactly hovering as much as he’s just there. Dick doesn’t say anything, but they don’t really need to, and just the mere presence of Bruce feels like a cool caress to a feverish head.  
  
The two watch old crime shows, British detective dramas and Bruce, perhaps unaware of his actions, points out every glaring flaw in the investigations. Dick just listens to his voice; how deep it is, how the roughness of Batman has slowly come to creep into that of Bruce Wayne. In some ways that worries him, in others, it feels like home.   
  
He says something about J’onn coming over tomorrow, but Dick isn’t paying him much attention. He isn’t really thinking at all as he’s simply letting the static buzz around his head, charging his blood with electricity. Part of him fears he’s going to burst any second now, while the rest of him has no energy left to worry.  
  
It’s kind of nice, for a change.  


 

* * *

 

 

  
Wally wipes his neck which is full of sweat, as the cops around him start to pack up. It’s been a really long day, and as it’s finally drawing to its end Wally releases a long, rustling breath. The power bars helped, and so did the fleeting rest, but as he pulls his goggles up to wipe at the sweat and grime around his eyes, he can barely stand without leaning against something. 

Wally groans internally in thought of having to return to the mansion; not that he doesn’t want to see Dick, really it’s been the only thing getting him through this, but the run there isn’t as tempting to consider. Wally isn’t sure if he could even walk the distance.  
  
So when M’gann offers him a ride home with the bio ship, he only debates with himself a little. He had told Dick he’d arrive, but what he really needs right now is food he won’t feel guilty for eating, his own, safe bed and, less likely to admit, his mom’s understanding hugs.

 

He needs a shower and a change of clothes and Wally just needs to be alone, for a little bit, before he can recharge. He feels like he’s been on his feet for days, and in a way he has; Wally can’t take the edge in the mansion and the constant walking on eggshells. Not very surprisingly, the guilt still falls on him as soon as he accepts the offer.  
  
”Hey” Catching his eye, Artemis walks over, her voice sounding raspier than usual. ”Heading home?”  
  
”Yeah. I…told Dick I was gonna show up later but…”  
  
”I’m sure he’ll understand.”  
  
Wally doesn’t feel convinced, and he knows by the way she looks at him that she knows that, too.  
  
”Maybe it’s better if he gets some time just with Bruce and Alfred right now? It’s been a loaded couple of nights.”  
  
”Yeah, maybe.” Wally sighs. ”Listen, I just… I’ve been meaning to uh… to thank you.”  
  
Artemis gives a crooked grimace he suspects was intended to be a smile.  
  
”You don’t have to thank me.”  
  
”Yeah, well, if you hadn’t… You’ve been there for him and… I appreciate that.”  
  
Artemis softly pushes his shoulder.  
  
”Gonna get cheesy on me, Kid Mouth?”  
  
He rolls his eyes.  
  
”Shut up.”   
  
They can hear M’gann calling out his name, both turning to look towards the Martian who waves at them from far away, the bioship hovering loyally in the air. Wally waves back, then turns to Artemis again.  
  
”Are you..?”  
  
Artemis shakes her head.  
  
”I’ll be fine. Go home and rest. You earned it.”  
  
Wally looks her over for a brief moment, just taking in the calmness, a sort of resigned placidity running through her features. Her eyes seem a little darker than usual.   
  
”Thanks.”  
  
”Don’t worry about it.”  
  
Wally nods in goodbye and leaves Artemis in an unusually comfortable silence.  


 

* * *

 

  
  
Dick doesn’t reply when Alfred tells him he’s got a phone call, just stares blankly at the TV screen like he’s been doing for the past hours. Alfred says something about Wally having to go home and rest, that he apologizes and something else Dick doesn’t really register, but he assumes it not to be very important as Alfred doesn’t repeat himself. He mumbles a detached ‘okay’ while still refusing to tear himself away from his spot on the couch. 

Bruce has almost too conveniently unplugged the cable box, making no channels available and if Dick wants to, he could pop in a DVD and try to distract himself, but nothing has seemed to help against the white noise in his head. So he stares blankly at the screen and wonders what the news are saying about everything.  
  
After walking by him for the fifth time and seeing he hasn’t changed positions, Bruce makes a small sigh and motions for Dick to get up. Dick asks what they’re doing, but Bruce doesn’t answer, and that’s about as much effort Dick feels like putting in. Knowing Bruce doesn’t like to be kept waiting, the boy gets up on weak legs and with a posture that on any other day would have Alfred completely horrified, drags himself off after Bruce.

When Bruce steps in behind the old grandfather clock, Dick is hit by a sudden, dull twinge of panic.  He can’t fully focus on anything but the echoing of his steps and the screaming flock of bats passing by, all sounds bouncing between the cave walls. Dick swallows and wonders if maybe Bruce hit his head on patrol because there are a lot of awful things Dick would rather do than head out and try to pass himself off as a hero right now.  
  
Bruce says nothing when they arrive. Minutes tick by and Bruce has neither told him to go change or get in the car, he hasn’t even pulled up any case files. He simply sits down and starts looking through some sort of cryptic code on the computer, staring at it quite intently for a while, like it got inappropriately drunk at one of his dinner banquets. After very few but still very long and painful minutes of concentrated silence, Bruce waves a little at him over his shoulder.  
  
”Dick, can you come look at this?”  
  
Dick shuffles closer. Keeping suspicious eyes on his guardian, he slowly starts to accept that Bruce is still Bruce and this is, for whatever reason, not going to be a patrol night. When he gets to a close but still safe position at his side, Dick looks up at the screen and is immediately blown away by the code.  
  
”Woah.”  
  
Bruce hums concurringly.  
  
”I think I understand most of it, but there’s this part here —” He enlarges the string of code with a quick click. ”— that eludes me.”  
  
Dick doesn’t bother to keep his jaw closed as he just stares at it in awe and something akin to intrigue sparks to life within him. Bruce gives him an inquiring, and maybe just a little bit sly, glance.  
  
”Think you can make heads or tails of it?”  
  
Dick nods, still gawking at the code. 

 

* * *

 

  
  
”I have a suggestion and I am not sure you will like it but… I do feel that it is necessary.”  
  
Dick inspects his nails for dirt, as usual very disinclined to look the Martian in the eyes. J’onn doesn’t mind, as much, as long as he is listening. They are running out of time and he is running out of patience, of nerve, perhaps. He had feared that it would come to suicide, but he had hopes that it wouldn’t. That he would be enough to prevent it. J’onn realizes the foolishness of his thoughts and sheds them all like old skin, yet still finds himself unable to completely keep the nagging guilt at bay.  
  
”Let me guess. You want to drug me up.”  
  
The Martian grimaces, peeved that the boy cannot know the remorse he feels.  
  
”That is not the way I would put it… I am simply of the belief that it has gotten too severe for us to be able to handle by therapy alone. Your symptoms are much too severe, Dick, for you to be able to gain any practical use of it.”  
  
Dick scoffs but doesn’t look up.  
  
”Is that your  _professional_  opinion?”  
  
The Martian frowns. 

”They are worried about you. We are  _all_  worried about you.”  
  
Dick doesn’t know how to respond to that so he tucks his hands away in a form of shield around his frame, looking at some far off corner. He’d like to argue, because there are so many, many reasons not to take medication, but he doesn’t find the energy. It probably won’t matter anyway; if this is Bruce’s idea, it is going to happen regardless of what Dick wants. Just like it always does.  
  
He feels as much like a prisoner here as he’d been on that operating table, only now people are blinded by their good will. Their righteousness, as if they were saviors. Dick envies their illusion, as he hates their perseverance.   
  
”I won’t take benzodiazepines.”  
  
”I understand. We will have to take you to a doctor, so perhaps Leslie Thompkins would be a good choice?”  
  
Dick sighs.  
  
”Does it matter what I think at this point? I mean, as long as you get to lock me up and can rest assured I won’t slit my throat open it’s all good, right?” Though the look he receives is brief, J’onn still feels his stomach turn. ”As long as I’m not a  _problem_ any more, it doesn’t matter if anything’s better. Right?”  
  
”Dick, that is  _not_  what I am saying.”  
  
”No. But it’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”  
  
J’onn regards him contemplatively for a moment, before he decides there is no use in beating dead horses — or however that Earth saying goes — and instead brings out a notebook.  
  
”I thought we might do some exercises today.”  
  
”Huzzah.”  
  
J’onn ignores the sarcastic drawl of his voice and instead flips through the pages for the appropriate scribbles.  
  
”The most important step is to start talking about it. It is only when you admit that it has happened, accept its existence, that you will be able to heal.”  
  
Dick leans his face against his hand and groans. He’s so tired of fighting them all the time. Maybe it’s best to just let himself be dragged along. Maybe if he complies enough they’ll leave him alone; maybe they’ll give up, eventually.  
  
”I think we should set up some goals to reach, and then discuss sufficient ways to reach these goals. Is there anything in particular you recognize as a problem right now?”  
  
”Not really, no.”  
  
Red eyes bore into him, causing Dick to squirm in his chair. J’onn looks at him in that sad way Dick’s grown to hate.  
  
”It is alright to be afraid, Dick.”  
  
”I’m not. I don’t really care, is all.”  
  
”Pardon me, but I find that hard to believe.”  
  
”Excuse me?”  
  
”Dick, during my time on Earth, few people I have met have cared as deeply as you. Few people have made themselves so emotionally invested, so connected. It is of uttermost importance that you start opening up to someone. Start sharing with someone you trust. ”  
  
”I don’t want to —”  
  
”You said you do not care. Well, if that is true, it should not be a problem to share.”  
  
Dick doesn’t respond, just tightens his mouth into a thin line.  
  
”Dick. Do you want to get better?”  
  
”I told you, I don’t  _care_.”  
  
”And I told you I do not believe you.”  
  
”Well, fine! Don’t! Because I don’t believe you either! Okay? So just… Just leave me alone. I don’t need you rubbing your stupid belief in my face that this is going to be okay! You weren’t… you weren’t there. You have  _no_  idea…”  
  
”I wasn’t sure whether or not I should tell you this but… I do know, Dick. I felt it too.”  
  
Dick looks at him with eyes wide, fear and confusion shredding his insides. J’onn cannot deny that he is getting desperate. Push is dangerously close to coming to shove and if that means he has to carry a bit of more guilt, he is willing to take that burden.  
  
”You... what?”  
  
”I felt your pain. The moment the psychic shield fell, your pain, your fear, your anger, flooded me. For that moment, we shared that experience. I may not understand fully, but that pain… I understand pain, Dick. And I understand that it may feel massive, insurmountable, but you were raised by Batman. You should know that nothing is impossible.”

Dick fills with an awkward sensation of something scraping against his insides; staving off the emotions that swell within him, he swallows a couple of times before he turns his eyes away. J’onn’s eyes are piercing and unyielding, and it seems no matter how stubborn he is he cannot escape the gaze.   
  
”Now. I know you are an intelligent boy, and I am certain that you, beneath that dark veil, know that this is not an optimal living condition. What do you think you need to work on?”  
  
As Dick glares heatedly at the floor, his indignation pushing even at J’onn’s mind, the Martian tries again with a softer voice.  
  
”What would you like to be going better? What do you miss?”  
  
Dick debates for a long moment whether or not he really knows, until the exhaustion paves way for everything that had remained hidden. Once Dick opens his mouth, every word feels as if carried on a wave.  
  
”I… I miss… Physical contact.”  
  
”It is important to you?”  
  
Dick wrings his hands. Wonders if there’s really a way to explain how much touch meant to him when growing up. Being brought up in the circus, especially as an acrobat, touch was a big part of his day. Sometimes it was even vital to his survival, and the way his parents always showered him in hugs and caresses ingrained the need for contact deeply within him. He had missed that the most when first moving in with Bruce, but as he found compensation in his friends, it had been easier to bear. Now he had none of that. In a way it wasn’t just like he lost physical contact, but as if he lost a little piece of himself, too.  
  
”Yes.” He simply says and J’onn nods.  
  
”Alright. How would you suggest we go about getting you used to it again?”  
  
”I don’t know.”  
  
”Sure you do.”  
  
Dick sighs angrily, but his resistance is waning.  
  
”I guess… I guess I… should practice it. I don’t know. Find out my… uh… my triggers and… I don’t know.  _You’re_  the shrink here.”  
  
J’onn dares the briefest of smiles.  
  
”I suggest, as you said, that we find out your triggers. Write them down, and figure out why exactly they trigger you. Are these thoughts rational? Is there another way of thinking about it? After we have done that, I suggest we practice something called  _systematic desensitization_ , to begin with. After that I think it might be good to practice with a real person.”  
  
Dick feels queasy just thinking about it.  
  
”With who?”  
  
”As I said, someone you trust.”  
  
Dick regards him in doubt.  
  
”So… that’s my homework?”  
  
”Not exactly. Until next time, your homework is to write a coherent list of triggers. Think back on episodes and evaluate how you reacted, why, and how you could have reacted differently. Then we will review your list together.”  
  
Dick sighs, but doesn’t protest.  
  
”Alright.”  
  
”Is there anything you would like to talk about now?”  
  
”No.”  
  
”As I thought.” Dick isn’t sure but it looks like the alien is smiling at him. Though it might just be the way the light falls. ”Then I will see you Thursday.”  


 

* * *

 

  
  
When Wally returns the day after, he’s feeling a lot better but his muscles still ache with strain — like he got too cocky in the gym — so it takes a little longer than usual for him to get around the reporters. Not that it matters much; they have lessened considerably in numbers, patience or perhaps interest waning as most of their kind is off bothering commissioner Gordon.  
  
When he sees the window he’s been using as a makeshift entrance, his chest fills with a cozy sort of warmth. Alfred must have left it open in anticipation of him.  
  
Wally searches through the floor, listening for sounds even though with the sheer size of the mansion it’s a quest doomed to fail. He doesn’t find Dick in his room, and panicking slightly, Wally rushes to search the lower floor. Eventually he finds Dick in the living room, going through some case files. Wally just stands staring curiously at him from the door opening, as Dick’s eyes focus with a tension that make them seem just a tad more clear, more piercing as he glares holes through the paper in his hand.  

To add to that, he’s got that little Robin frown when he’s trying to solve something, biting his thumbnail in deep concentration. Wally isn’t sure if Dick is aware of him thanks to his freaky Bat-senses, or if he’s too engrossed in whatever he’s doing. Clearing his throat as non-threateningly as he can, Wally earns an intense stare of alarm.   
  
”Jeesh, Wally” Dick exhales irritably.  
  
”Scare ya, birdbrain?”  
  
Dick just mumbles something at him and shuffles the papers together as if Wally would care about the mess. Amused at how flustered he seems, Wally slowly steps into the room.  
  
”Whatcha got there?”  
  
”Batman asked me to go through some computer stuff for him. Some code he couldn’t figure out.” He pauses, then adds as an afterthought ”Don’t tell him I said that.”  
  
”Nah, wouldn’t want to hurt the big guy’s ego” Wally smirks. ”So, a case, huh?”  
  
”It’s just some… consultation. No big.”  
  
”The older generation just don’t get computers, huh?”   
  
Wally smirks even wider at the look of confusion on Dick’s face, but he can’t deny that it feels good to see him working. Not splitting skulls open or staring into a wall, and though it’s just some code and some paper work, he’s doing things he used to do. He’s  _acting_ , and in a way that feels so normal. The look on Dick’s face as he glared at the papers, it looked a lot like Wally wanted to remember him, from before everything. Wally hopes it means that part of him hasn’t completely disappeared.  
  
”You got time for an old speedster?”  
  
”Yeah, yeah, I’m almost done, it’s just this little piece that makes no sense to me but…” Then Dick looks as if he just got a smaller epiphany, ”Want to help?”  
  
Wally glances cautiously around him.  
  
”Won’t Bats get mad?”  
  
Dick smirks.  
  
”He won’t have to know.”  
  
”I dunno, dude, you always say he always finds out. Somehow…”  
  
Wally isn’t entirely convinced the room isn’t being filmed or bugged, and suddenly he feels uncomfortable in his skin as if any second now, the Dark Knight himself is going to bash in through the window and punch him.   
  
”It’s nothing super secret. Something Intergang’s up to. The usual.”  
  
Wally smiles confidently, cracking his knuckles as he plops himself down, making Dick bounce on the cushions.  
  
”Well, why didn’t you say so? I can dig the usual.”  
  
Dick hands Wally some of the papers, and though Wally can’t really make sense of most of it, he’s able to think of some things Dick can’t. The general silence they sit in is so comfortable that Wally for a moment forgets the aching of his body, while Dick stops thinking about the noise in his head.  
  
Dick talks about computer related things, and though it’s not really Wally’s area, he’s hung around the boy for long enough to get bigger chunks of it. While Dick doodles and scribbles, strikes out and scribbles again, Wally watches him with fond eyes.  
  
”Uh, hey” he says after a while of silence, when Dick is looking less concentrated. Still, he doesn’t even look up from the paper and instead acknowledges him with a small hum. ”I uh… I brought you something.”  
  
Dick gives him a small glance, the scribbling stopping for the first time in a while.  
  
”Something?”  
  
Wally tries not to blush but feels the heat on his cheeks anyway, so as a diversion he turns away to start going through his bag.  
  
”I uh… I got it for you a while ago but with all that’s been going on I just kind of… let it slip my mind and it wasn’t until yesterday when mom found it and asked who it was for that I remembered and I was going to give it to you sooner and all but… yeah.”   
  
Dick stops following the rambling about midway through, his curiosity peaking as he puts the papers away on the table, watching Wally pull something out of the bag.

”Uhm. Merry Christmas.” Wally holds a small little box out, his hand shaking just a little, though Dick is far too dumbstruck by his words to notice. Neither does he really realize how messily the box has been wrapped, wrinkled and creased in places that should be impossible, the paper a very awful, garish mess of colors and while Wally’s heart is pounding – as if Dick was some professional gift wrapping designer – Dick stops really seeing it after a minute or so, staring in silence.   
  
”Uh. Dick?” Wally tries, stumbling a little over his words. He clears his throat and tries again, glad to sound more confident this time. ”Dick, you still with me?”  
  
Dick blinks at him, snapping out of his stupor as he gives Wally a look of pure confusion.  
  
”Christmas?”  
  
Wally frowns. Like when talking to someone just waking out of a very long coma, he starts speaking as carefully as he can, a small ball of fear rolling through him.  
  
”Uh. Yes. Christmas. You know Christmas? Lots of lights and decorations? Big fat man in a red suit? Climbing through chimneys?”  
  
”I  _know_ what —” Dick snaps. With a sigh, he closes his eyes and tries to calm down. Opening them again, he looks twice as confused and maybe even a bit unsettled. ”But why are you bringing me a Christmas gift in _October_?”  
  
Wally isn’t sure how to feel about that question.  
  
”Uhm. Dick.” His throat ties itself unpleasantly, and the little ball of fear is suddenly imposingly large. ”Dick, it’s… it’s March.”  
  
Dick doesn’t seem to understand.  
  
”No” Despite the resolve in his eyes, his voice sounds a little bit more doubtful with each word. ”No, no. No, it’s… it’s fall, it….”  
  
”I’m sorry dude but it’s… springtime.”  
  
”But…” Dick looks at him, mouth tight, and Wally suddenly feels like he just told him Santa wasn’t real. ”When did it..? I… Your birthday?”  
  
Wally tries to smile encouragingly but it doesn’t feel very strong.  
  
”Yeah, that’s ah… That’s passed.”  
  
”I  _missed_  your… I missed your birthday.”  
  
Dick turns away from him, curling into his body. Wally recognizes the look on his face and immediately starts shaking his head in protest.  
  
”No, no, don’t do that, don’t go all self-blaming on me now! Dick, come  _on_ , it’s no big deal —”  
  
”Of course it’s a big deal!” Dick glares. ”I missed your  _birthday_ , Wally!  _Your_  birthday!”  
  
”Dude, it’s okay, I mean, a lot has been going on and I mean, I almost kinda forgot, myself, except -”  
  
”It’s like your favorite day of the year and I  _missed_  it!”  
  
” _Hey_ ”  
  
Dick ignores his half-pout and covers his face with his hands, groaning in frustration.  
  
”Dick, really, come on, it’s not like I blame you.”  
  
”You got me a Christmas gift and I forgot your birthday.”  
  
”Uh…”  
  
”I forgot your birthday and I missed Christmas and I  _forgot_  your  _birthday_.”  
  
Wally sighs.  
  
”Yes, we’ve established that.”  
  
Dick glares at him with such hard anger Wally withdraws by reflex, almost expecting him to jump on him. Upon seeing his friend’s fear, Dick looks away, the calm gained from actually being useful for once quickly withering as he feels ill with guilt. Wally sighs and scoots a little closer.  
  
”Dick, I didn’t mean to freak you out, I just… wanted to give it to you. That’s all.”  
  
He’d just wanted it to be nice and to cheer him up a little, but now the box weighs unrealistically heavy in his hands. Wally barely stops himself from throwing it away, averting his eyes instead. Dick closes his own as the room starts to fade out of focus, tilting heavily until he has to swallow down against the nausea.  
  
”It’s  _March_?”  
  
Wally nods even though Dick can’t see it.  
  
”Yeah. Actually, half the reason I remembered to bring you this was because I realized it was almost time for your birthday and… I’m gonna shut up now because I’m clearly not helping.”  
  
Dick regards him for a moment when it suddenly sinks in, slowly like a predator in the back of his head, lurking in the grass before it throws itself at him, claws drawn and teeth bared.   
  
”This… this is my first birthday.”  
  
”Your first birthday?” Wally’s eyes widen. ”Oh.  _Oh._  Since..? Yeah… It… it is.”

And the first Christmas passed, but maybe that’s just as well.   
  
”You know” Wally says as he gets infinitely more interested in his own hands. ”It doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”  
  
Inside Dick’s ribcage blooms the pure, barebones fear of having been so out of touch, so unfocused that he lost track of time this grossly. It’s not like he didn’t notice the change in weather, or the clothing of people, the color of leaves and the temperature, and of course he was aware that time had passed and that it had been long; his brain knew that but it had all felt like one big loop of the same day over and over.   
  
”What the hell am I supposed to do?” Dick draws a shaky breath.  
  
”Well, you could… You could start by, you know, not bottling everything up and… talk to me.” At Dick’s flickering gaze he adds a little more authority to his voice. ”You know, like you  _promised._ ”  
  
The way Dick squirms as if the words are physically painful, makes Wally want to say something encouraging, something that’ll help but all he knows how to say now is the truth, and that’s never a very pretty thing to offer someone.  
  
”You don’t know what to do and I don’t know what to do, so maybe we should stop the blame game and just work something out. Together. Bro style.”  
  
Dick’s mind is slowly left numb with the weight of things he knows he should be feeling, but which he doesn’t have the strength to go through at the moment. All the guilt, the shock and fear of what’s going to happen to all those kids, jumbles up and ties itself together like a pair of headphones fished up from his pocket. Dick isn’t sure if that’s a bad thing or not.  
  
”What if I… what if I tell you something and…”  
  
”And I don’t understand? I don’t look at you the same way?” Wally sighs angrily. ”I don’t know, Dick, okay? Maybe you should just, and I know this is a  _crazy_  idea, but… maybe you should just try to trust me.”  
  
Dick knows he deserves it, hell, he deserves a lot worse for everything he’s put him through. And Wally’s still here now, despite all the — abuse isn’t a good word, but it’s the closest he’s got to really describe it. He’s been through all of this, with him, and never wavered. Dick supposes he should feel a lot of bad things about that and that he probably would, if he could feel much at all at the moment. Part of him is glad he can’t.  
  
”Things can’t get any worse, I guess.” Dick says, a bitter tinge to his voice as he knows that’s usually always the sentence preceding certain doom. Famous last words, and all. ”I’m just…”  
  
”People always say the first step is to talk about it, so.” Wally shrugs. ”Plus, you won’t be alone with it, either. You’ll get it out and we can start… figuring things out together. You know, as a team.”  
  
Dick looks at him quietly for a moment.  
  
”I’m scared.”  
  
”I know. Me too.” Wally exhales deeply. ”So… What happened?”  
  
Dick rubs at his face. Now when the moment has come it’s as if he’s suddenly choked, every word tackling and pushing and crowding in his chest to get out, trampling him until he can barely get a breath out. Wally sees the struggle, and can’t really help but sigh. He’s promised himself to be patient, for Dick’s sake, but he doesn’t think patience is helping anyone.  
  
”I can’t believe you’re still fighting this. Aren’t you tired?” Dick refuses to look at him, but Wally doesn’t let him go with his eyes. ”Dude, it’s  _okay._ ”  
  
”Would you  _stop_  saying that?”  
  
”Why? Because it’s not? Well, then what is it? Why isn’t it okay? C’mon Dick, you have to help me out here. I’m not a mind reader!”  
  
Dick leans against the backrest with a frustrated sigh, so heavy it feels like it’s almost taking his lungs out with it.

”I’m…” And as if waiting for him to make a move, the lump lurking at the back of his throat swells, strangling him as if his body physically resists the memories. ”I’m…”  
  
Wally waits patiently, not even counting the seconds until Dick manages to open his mouth again.  
  
”I’m supposed to be brave, you know? Batman basically  _is_  fear, and even as a Grayson, I’m not… I’m not supposed to be scared but I am. I’m terrified. And I know, I know, everyone keeps saying that if I just talk about it, it’ll feel better… But I’m afraid that it won’t, that… That I’ll have to go through all of that again, relive every second of it only to feel more afraid than I started. And it’ll… it’ll become real then, you know? It won’t just be a bad memory I can pretend never happened, I can’t… I can’t ignore it anymore and it’s… eating me, I can feel it, but I’m just so scared that if I let it out, I’ll lose control.”  
  
Wally hesitates a little before he holds his hand out. It’s such a small, simple gesture, a silly one, but the comfort is almost immediate when Dick takes it in his own. The warmth of Wally’s hand becomes the warmth of his, and it feels good to be close to someone again.  
  
”I… Shit.” Dick tears his eyes away as one would from fire. ”You know, I actually… I don’t remember all of it. Not…chronologically, anyway. It was just… just so much and I was so tired and hungry and I … I didn’t even know how much time had passed, until Bruce told me and it’s… Bits and pieces, everywhere, and I’m not sure what happened when or in what order or even  _if_  it happened. Some days I’m convinced none of it did. Maybe I just… just made it all up.”  
  
He sighs.  
  
”You don’t really… You don’t need to hear about this. I should talk to J’onn, I – I mean,  _no one_  should have to hear this because it’s no big deal, really, I mean, maybe I’m just overreacting and it wasn’t that bad.”  
  
”What did he do?”  
  
Wally’s voice is so soft, so quietly murmured it takes Dick by surprise. Wally’s not asking, not demanding, not wondering or coaxing. Wally just is.  
  
”He broke my fingers.” Dick says and swallows, not sure if he’s imagining it but he’s almost certain he can taste blood in his throat. ”He broke them. One at a time. The pain kind of evened itself out after a while, but then…”   
  
He flexes his hand unwittingly as the pain blooms through the bone. Throbbing like a little reminder.  
  
”He pulled my gloves off and it… jarred the bone and it just… It just  _hurt_  so much but it was so early on in, I could deal with it. I mean, it’s nothing. I’ve broken tons of stuff so I could manage, but the real… the real torture of it was not _knowing_ how long it would go on. When it would end. Just like standing up isn’t really a big deal until you’re forced to stand up for hours, and hours and hours.”  
  
He was really hoping not to cry and fights against it the best that he can, but it gets harder the longer he speaks. Wally should be used to it by now, even if Dick doesn’t want him to be.  
  
”And I don’t know, Wally… It’s… I don’t know. It might have been after that he skinned me, it might not. Some things are just a blur, or I remember a smell or a sound or a sensation. I can’t… I can’t get the smell of burnt flesh out of my head some days and Alfred makes roast and it’s just…” He takes a deep breath to keep the bile form rising, but it’s starting to get forceful. ”I don’t know, I don’t  _know_  it’s just… I thought I was going to die, I had… I tried to fight against it, at first, that thought, that this is it, you know? This is when I call it in, hang up the hat or whatever. But…”  
  
Upon hearing his own voice, how thickly laced with tears it is and feeling the snot fill up his nose, Dick can’t help but feel like a pathetic five year old.

”I couldn’t push against it too long, eventually it was… Well, there was no other way it would go, right? They had to kill me, that’s what they do when you don’t tell them what they want to hear and it wasn’t really dying that scared me. It did at first, sure, I mean, I didn’t want to  _die_ , I didn’t want to die at _thirteen_ but she kept healing and healing and it never stopped, it never  _ended_  and I was so sick of it and… And I don’t know but suddenly I just wanted them to finish it.”  
  
Wally closes his eyes and listens to Dick’s rising breathing, concentrates on his body heat and his smell and his body close to his, reminds himself that Dick is there and he’s alive and it’s okay. At least as okay as it can be, compared to the alternative.   
‘  
''You know, most of the time I wish they'd just killed me.'' Dick's eyes are burning now. ''Why me, Wally? Why did it have to be  _me_?''  
  
''I don't know, Dick. I wish I knew.''  
  
''What kind of hero am I to even think like that, anyway?'' Dick chuckles but it's the worst kind of sound. ''Of course it should've been me because it could have been  _you_  or Artemis or hell, it could've been anyone and here I am being selfish when I'm supposed to protect people''  
  
''You did protect people. You protected us and it's okay to be selfish.''  
  
''No, no, it's not. It's not okay, it's not -- it's -- it just shouldn't have taken that long, it shouldn't take  _two weeks_  to find me''  
  
Wally can't manage to draw a full breath at the words because he can't help but feel like he's responsible for this. Dick's own questions had played through his own mind a hundred times around. Why hadn't he been there on time? Why wasn't he faster? Why didn't he look closer? Just a whole bunch of why why whys but not a single because among them.  
  
''I'm sorry, Dick. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry''  
  
''Why didn't Bruce  _protect_  me?''  
  
Wally just sits in heavy silence.  
  
''What's worse than that is that... sometimes, I wished it would've been somebody else. Just... just a little while, I wished it wouldn't have been me. And maybe that's why. Maybe that's why it had to be. Maybe I deserved it.''

”No. No, no, no,  _no_ ” Wally’s anger is only matched by his regret. ”Don’t  _say_  that. You didn’t  _deserve_  it, Dick, okay? No one deserves that.  _No one_. I don’t care what someone’s done or what you thought or wished! It’s normal to wish for that! I mean Jesus Christ, you do have a  _little_  sense of self-preservation, don’t you?”  
  
Dick’s hit by the scalding shame of being reprimanded, but as he tries to fold into himself and hide from Wally’s hard green eyes, they soften.   
  
”I don’t know what to do, Wally. Everything is so messed up, I… People are  _killing_  themselves and I don’t know what to do with all these… all these thoughts and I just… How the hell am I supposed to  _live_  like this?”  
  
”I don’t know either, but you don’t have to know everything right now. It’s okay not to know, because you can find out. You can work it out in your own pace. And I’ll… I’ll help you, alright?”  
  
Dick makes an awfully embarrassing hitching sound, and Wally nudges him.  
  
”I’m in your life now, dude, and you’re never getting rid of me so I suggest you get comfortable!”  
  
Dick bites his lip and keeps his eyes on the table.   
  
”Hey, c’mon. It doesn’t have to be all bad, you know. We’ll work something out. And in the meantime, we’ll get you a great cake and have the best birthday and, you know, we could do like a double thing! Mine and yours at the same time and we’ll watch a movie and pop balloons behind Alfred and get our asses kicked and it’s gonna be great!”  
  
Dick gives him a strange look, eyes bloodshot and freaky looking but his lips curl into a crooked little smile.  
  
”Maybe we could have Christmas, too” Wally dons a pondering look. ”Birthmas.”  
  
”Sounds like we’re pregnant.”  
  
”Hey, now, I’m just spitballing.”  
  
Wally won’t let himself be discouraged by the narrow look his friend is giving him.  
  
”It’ll be awesome.” He says. ”Because we’re awesome.”


	26. Chapter 26

Leslie isn't happy to see him.   
  
The first thing she does is order him up on the scale, and while jotting down his weight she sends him one disapproving look after the other. J'onn talks to her silently to the side, Dick not bothering to contribute much to the conversation. They discuss brands and dosages, combinations and side effects. Leslie goes through them all with him, but Dick isn't really listening.   
  
Later, she takes him to the side to discuss supplements. Protein drinks and diet plans. Dick gives her a frown stained with annoyance but feels exhaustion drag across his body. He is too tired to argue, at this point. The suggestion and the comments that his weight is anything but healthy have him annoyed, maybe even slightly belligerent but Dick doesn’t argue. He just wants to go home. He’s fine, he wants to say. It’s alright. But it’s not. So he doesn’t.  
  
She gives him one mournful look before she tightens her mouth and lets them go. They pick up his prescription in the pharmacy and carry on towards the mansion. It is a rather uneventful day, but then again, so are most days now. Dick wakes up, walks around, talks to J'onn without really saying anything, goes to bed and hopes he doesn't dream.  
  
Dick finds the more he talks to J'onn the worse his nightmares get, like he's scratching up an old wound that has barely scabbed over. But the Martian says it's necessary. Bruce says he has to and Alfred says they're right. Dick takes his pills and forgets about it.  
  
J'onn helps Dick with desensitization, it's almost a bit like meditation; Dick closes his eyes and imagines a situation that triggers him. A touch too intimate, or a move too sudden, and step by step the Martian walks him through it. Working out his emotions that rise and untie every knot until Dick knows exactly what he's feeling and why.

It’s not a pleasant experience and, though he’d never admit it to anyone outside that room, the first sessions trigger massive panic attacks. He almost laughs at himself because it takes a special kind of coward, Dick thinks, to fear something that isn’t even real.  
  
He’s not really in a mall or on a crowded street or wherever the imaginary setting is this time. He’s not really cornered or touched or looked at too long. But it feels real. Too real. Sometimes Dick wonders if J’onn is helping with some Martian telepathy mojo, but he bites his tongue as soon as the question rises. J’onn means well. Dick knows that.

J'onn is very careful never to say the word rape or sexual assault, the few times he did Dick shut down entirely and was more or less unreachable for the rest of the day. It's a problem they will have to work on, later. Just not today. Maybe not even tomorrow. But eventually. It’s enough, for now, that he’s starting to open up about the torture. It takes a long, long while, so long Bruce starts asking him to do unspeakable actions again. Reach into his mind where he’s not allowed to be and just look.  _Look, J’onn,_  Bruce barks. But he cannot.  
  
J’onn thinks it helps for Dick to know, that fleeting moment of pain they had shared, back when this all started. J’onn has seen it, so there’s no point in hiding it. J’onn knows and still sits there, looking at Dick like he’s a person, like he’s still a  _hero_  even though Dick feels like neither. So he begins, slowly, but surely. The more he speaks, the easier the words come. Like he’s nudged a clasp that’s slowly starting to jiggle loose; opening the window that’ll let J’onn see into a part of him he doesn’t like.  
  
J’onn isn’t fond of it either. But he remains.  
  
  


* * *

 

 

  
  
''We’ve made good progress, Dick’’ he says and he sounds like he means it.  
  
Dick shrugs noncommittally.  
  
‘’I guess’’  
  
‘’No, do not guess. Know. I’m satisfied with the desensitization. How is the medicine?’’  
  
‘’Dunno. Fine, I guess.’’  
  
Truthfully, it’s not. It’s not awful either, it just kind of  _is_. Just like Dick kind of is. He feels like a blunt object most of the time, fearful but no longer terrified as he’s just lost the real ability to care. To worry. It’s not like his former bouts of apathy, whenever everything got too heavy. Dick feels, but it’s muddy and clouded and strange. Like he’s not entirely connected to himself, coated in a nice blanket, his emotions squirm but never quite reach him. It’s not a pleasant feeling, but neither is it unpleasant, so Dick just rolls with it.  
  
‘’How are the side effects?’’  
  
Dick has gotten the short end of the stick on that one. His head hurts, his muscles ache, his stomach’s a god awful mess and when he actually tries to eat it’s like every bite grows in his mouth. Food tastes like cotton and he’s so god damn  _thirsty_  all the time.

He’s restless and tired at the same time; sweating and irritable and moves, some days, as if drunk. He still can’t sleep so he got pills for that too, then  _those_  had side effects and all of it’s just a massive blur of headaches and stomach cramps.

But it does help. Not much but enough for him to go through with the exercises. Dick writes his lists, desensitizes, talks about the first day in captivity, then the second, then his nightmares. He writes down reactions, considers how he should’ve reacted, answers at least a third of J’onn’s questions and it’s good. J’onn calls it progress. Dick feels the constant need to throw up so he mostly just nods and go along with it.

  
‘’Fine’’ Dick says, realizing he’s been quiet for too long and J’onn has started to stare. ‘’I just… Is it really necessary with the supplements?’’  
  
’’You are still very underweight, Dick. Such malnutrition is not healthy for a boy your age.’’  
  
Dick sighs.  
  
‘’Sure, whatever. I just. They’re disgusting.’’  
  
‘’We could always get you a different flavor?’’  
  
Dick sighs, again, and shakes his head. He turns his eyes to someplace else, looking without really seeing, just as he’s been hearing but never really listening. Just floating. J’onn won’t understand and Dick is too tired to argue.  
  
‘’Dick’’ J’onn says after he’s realized the subject has been dropped. ‘’Since you are doing so well, I thought we might try something else. How do you feel about interpersonal therapy?’’  
  
The same as he feels about everything else, which is not much at all and what does it even matter what he feels, so he gives a loose shrug of one shoulder.  
  
‘’Whatever’’  
  
J’onn frowns, but continues on the same path as before. ‘’I was thinking it would be best to start with Bruce, then maybe other people you feel you need to repair your relations with. If this feels too sudden for you, we could always start practicing with a bit of role play.’’  
  
Dick gives him a strange look. ‘’ _Role_  play?’’  
  
‘’Yes’’ Unfazed, the Martian nods. ‘’I am, after all, a shapeshifter.’’  
  
‘’Dude, that’s just  _weird_.’’  
  
‘’Is it?’’ J’onn seems genuinely surprised. Customs of Earth still elude him after all these years. Dick wants to chuckle but can’t. ‘’So that is a no then?’’  
  
‘’To the freaky Martian role play? Uh, yeah.’’  
  
‘’Alright.’’  
  
They are silent for a while before J’onn regains confidence in his quest. ‘’Then, are you alright with going straight to the therapy?’’  
  
‘’Whatever, J’onn. If you can manage to force  _Bruce_  into therapy with you, I’d be happy to see it.’’ The absolute monotone to his voice does nothing to indicate this enthusiasm.   
  
‘’Very well. Thursday?’’  
  
Dick’s mind is already a thousand miles away.  
  
‘’Sure’’ he says. ‘’Whatever floats.’’  


 

* * *

 

  
  
Bruce is not a fan of therapy.  
  
He’s been to sessions, before. After his parents. After Harvey. It didn’t last long and though he talked, he didn’t actually  _say_  anything. Bruce likes to keep his skeletons neatly tucked in his closet, away from everyone else and their inquiries. He’s studied up on the subject, of course, because he has to, and he knows most tricks already. He’s seen enough to be skeptical. 

If there was ever any doubt about the trustworthiness and credibility of a psychologist, well. After Harley Quinn, after Hugo Strange and Dr. Crane, those doubts were erased.  
  
But this isn’t for him. This is for Dick. This is important.  
  
J’onn eyes the two like unstable chemicals about to mix. He’s twitchy today. Dick is a boneless, disinterested lump in his chair who doesn’t meet the eyes of either of them. It’s very quiet for a while, before the Martian clears his throat.  
  
‘’So’’ he says, and everything feels awkward. ‘’We all know why we are here today, so there is no point in dillydallying.’’  
  
Bruce’s eyebrow twitches at the odd choice of words, but he remains silent.   
  
‘’Bruce, I would like to start talking with you, actually’’ Bruce gives him a daring glare, a challenge and a warning all in one. J’onn trudges on. ‘’It has become evident to me during these past three weeks that Dick’s relationships, or ability to uphold them, has suffered quite terribly from this… ordeal.’’  
  
Bruce watches him carefully, gaze hard and black. He exhales. This is for Dick, he reminds himself, fisting his hands.  
  
‘’You might say that’’

‘’We have been trying to identify the causes behind this, and one major reason we believe to be Dick’s fear of trusting. Now, as a protégé of yours I think we can assume he has always had trust issues, but they have now worsened considerably. Dick? Would you like to add anything?’’  
  
Dick tries and fails to count the threads in his jeans, brain too disorganized and uncooperative, he gets to four before he has to start all over.  
  
‘’No’’  
  
J’onn gives him a patient stare.  
  
‘’Dick.’’  
  
Glancing up, his eyes flicker only momentarily to Bruce before he averts them again.  
  
‘’I…’’ he bites the inside of his cheek.   
  
‘’Dick, you are safe here. Nothing you say will be held against you. There will come no harm to you. I promise.’’  
  
The boy sighs. ‘’It’s just…’’ He rubs at his eye, then gestures flaccidly as the words are hard to come by. ‘’I don’t… know. It’s… This is hard, okay?’’  
  
‘’Take all the time that you need.’’  
'  
After at least five minutes go by and no one says anything, the silence by now nearly insufferable, J’onn decides to try a different approach. He turns to Bruce, who seems to know what he’s thinking before the Martian opens his mouth.  
  
‘’Bruce. What problems have you identified in your relationship to your ward?’’  
  
Bruce’s face hardens again, his jaws clenching and unclenching, chewing the words before deciding whether or not they’re safe to speak.  
  
‘’Plenty.’’  
  
Dick flinches. J’onn reaches out a soothing, mental hand but is promptly slapped away.  
  
‘’Go on’’ he says. Bruce exhales.  
  
‘’You want the truth?’’  
  
‘’As honest as it can be. But please, try to refrain from cruelty.’’  
  
Bruce isn’t sure how to react to that so he settles for a glare. One which does nothing to affect the Martian, a determined block of pure will gazing at him with analyzing, red eyes. Bruce has never hated therapy so much.  
  
‘’I think Dick is reckless. I think he’s stopped using his mind and started following pure instinct. If honesty is the best policy, I don’t recognize him.’’  
  
The words hurt, hurt more than anything’s hurt in a while as even through the thick muffler of the pills, they reach in through the cracks and scratch, cut and burrow into Dick’s flesh. He tries not to show any outward reaction but knows his hands are shaking.  
  
‘’Dick, you have to understand.’’ He demands, never ever asks for anything because nothing is an option. ‘’I don’t blame you for reacting. You… you should. It’s healthy to react to trauma. I’m just saying you’re not doing it the right way.’’  
  
‘’Oh,  _excuse_  me’’ Dick spits, flames rising in his blood as the weight in his limbs lifts, evaporates to give way for the sudden fury tossing inside him. ‘’I’m so  _sorry_  that I’m not  _reacting_  according to  _your_  rules!’’  
  
‘’That’s not what I meant, Dick, don’t twist my words’’ Bruce snarls, and the two are looking at each other for the first time since they entered the room, eyes hard and challenging.

   
J’onn puts more authority to his voice when he speaks. ‘’Calm yourselves. There is no need for accusations.’’ He nods at Bruce. ‘’Continue. Please.’’  
  
Bruce narrows his eyes as he casts an askew glare at the green man, flickers briefly back to Dick and then far away from the both of them.  
  
‘’It’s been months. Months of a steady deterioration’’ He unclenches his hands, had barely noticed them grabbing onto the armrests, and turns his eyes back to Dick. Refusing to let his gaze go and refusing him to not acknowledge this. ‘’People need different time to grieve but you can’t keep doing this, Dick. You have to stop running away and face it.’’  
  
‘’Oh!’’ Dick gives a patronizing scoff. ‘’Like you’re facing your issues by dressing as a bat? Okay, yeah, sure! Great idea, Bruce!’’  
  
‘’ _Richard_ ’’ J’onn warns, but Dick doesn’t care.  
  
‘’No, no, I think it’s really rich that the guy who’s  _Batman_  is telling  _me_  how to deal with my problems!’’  
  
‘’So you do acknowledge that they are problems?’’

Dick glares at J’onn. His jaws so tight they twitch. He exhales through his nose and sits back in the chair, arms crossed defensively across his chest.  
  
‘’This is stupid.’’ He says. ‘’Pointless and stupid like everything else we’ve been doing.’’  
  
‘’What would you do then, Dick?’’ Bruce just can’t stop challenging, can’t stop fighting and pushing and punching and J’onn is starting to think this is going to go way out of line. ‘’Should we let you stay in your room all day? Let you stay in bed where you can continue hiding? Is  _that_  productive enough?’’  
  
‘’I didn’t say that!’’ Dick is close to yelling. ‘’Do you think I like this? Do you think I like being this  _useless_? Because I don’t, Bruce. Okay? I don’t! I hate it!’’  
  
His breath is shaky as he breathes in, deep, deep, deep until his lungs hurt. He hides his face in his hands, slumped over his legs like there’s not enough holding him up anymore.  
  
‘’You keep pushing me to get better, to do better, be better, like you always do. Do it again, do it better, better,  _better_! That’s all you’ve ever said and it used to be okay, I used to know how to deal with it back when I actually knew what the hell better _is_  but I…’’ He swallows. ‘’I don’t know, anymore. Alright? I don’t remember what it was like not to be… to be  _this_. You just keep demanding and I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to be doing. I don’t... I don’t  _know_ , Bruce’’  
  
Bruce watches him silently. Even though his expression hasn’t changed, there is something softer to his shoulders, something different. J’onn watches them carefully for a while, watches Bruce regard his ward, move slightly, hesitate, pull back.   
  
‘’So it would be beneficial if Bruce….  _’backed off’_ , as they say.’’ He earns a glare that he ignores with ease. ‘’And Dick could benefit from trying a little harder.’’  
  
‘’I’m trying! I’m taking your stupid pills and doing your stupid assignments and talking about my stupid feelings and my stupid nightmares and this is  _stupid_!’’  
  
‘’You still have nightmares?’’ Bruce seems genuinely surprised, which isn’t a common sight. It sits badly with the Martian.   
  
Dick scoffs. ‘’Yeah.’’  
  
Bruce doesn’t know what to say.   
  
‘’I think we have to recognize here that you are doing progress’’ J’onn says and looks at Dick. ‘’You are doing all those things, something you wouldn’t even consider just a bare month ago. You’re taking your supplements, even if eating is still difficult. You gained a little weight, did you not?’’  
  
‘’Yeah. A pound.’’  
  
J’onn nods.  
  
‘’That is very good, Dick. You may think you are not making progress but you  _are_. It is a slow and difficult process, but it is going forward. It saddens me that you are unable to see that.’’  
  
‘’I just…’’ Dick becomes engrossed in the matter of his own hands, fiddling with them as he swallows, his throat raw like someone just took a grating iron and went to town on it. ‘’Bruce is right. I’m… I’m not… me. And since you were never pleased with old me, I guess that says everything about what you think of me now.’’ He smiles but the gesture is dead. ‘’Maybe it’ll never get better. Maybe I’ll never get old me back, you know?’’  
  
‘’Maybe you should not worry about getting old you, as you say, back. Maybe you should just concentrate on making a  _new_  you.’’  
  
Dick frowns. ‘’Sure. Whatever.’’  
  
‘’Dick’’ J’onn says then, very carefully. ‘’Are you afraid that Bruce won’t accept who you are now? That if you don’t recover he will shun you?’’  
  
Dick tightens considerably at the words, shoulders nearly a perfect line. Bruce doesn’t move at all.  
  
‘’I… Uh…’’ Dick draws a hand through his hair. ‘’Yeah. Yeah, I guess.’’  
  
Bruce looks angry then, a quiet fury ghosting through his features, his brows moving just slightly together and his voice is hard and dangerous when he speaks. ‘’Why didn’t you tell me that?’’  
  
Was it his fault? Bruce didn’t know. Probably, it was.   
Dick doesn’t answer so Bruce prompts again, harsher this time and the boy flinches.  
  
_‘’Dick.’’_  
  
‘’Because it’s impossible to talk to you!’’  
  
‘’It’s not impossible to – ‘’

‘’Yeah, it kinda is, Bruce. All you do is get angry and closed off, you’re doing it  _right now_! It’s like… How do I talk to you about being scared when your whole M.O is to not be afraid of anything? You make others scared. There’s…. There’s never any room for us to be. You’ve said so. We can’t be scared. We can’t doubt or second guess. We don’t have the _luxury_. It kinda comes with the gig.’’  
  
‘’Dick, that’s as a crime fighter. You’re not just a _partner_ , you’re a civilian, too.’’  
  
‘’Well, you’re not and I’m supposed to be like you or I’ve failed.’’  
  
Bruce watches him silently, then sighs.  
  
‘’No.’’ He doesn’t sound as angry anymore, but Dick still can’t bring himself to look at him. ‘’Dick, do you remember when you first came here?’’  
  
‘’Oh, you mean when my  _parents_  died? Yeah, I think that rings a bell.’’  
  
Bruce glares at him, but keeps his tone even. ‘’Did anyone judge you then? Did anyone punish you for being… affected by it?’’  
  
‘’I… No.’’ He fidgets. ‘’Alfred made scones.’’  
  
Bruce can’t help but quirk the corner of his mouth.  
  
‘’He did. It’s his home remedy for everything.’’  
  
Dick glances at Bruce, questioning, carefully treading and with his guard still up.  
  
‘’This isn’t different, Dick.’’  
  
‘’Yeah.’’ Dick’s voice sounds so much smaller. ‘’It kinda is.’’  
  
Nobody speaks then. J’onn watches them much like he’s been doing for the entire session. Eyes on them like they’re his lab rats and they’re starting to do very peculiar things. The tension in the room has been flexing, swelling, shrinking, a ruckus of broken trust and unspoken accusations that are starting to wear on him.   
  
‘’Dick’’ J’onn says. ‘’Why do you think your relationship with Bruce is limping?’’  
  
‘’Because he’s Bruce.’’  
  
J’onn fights against the wry smile but it still manages to wrestle its way onto his lips.  
  
‘’If you could be more specific, please’’  
  
‘’Well, he’s … I don’t know.’’  
  
‘’Let me rephrase it, then. What do you think could be going better? What would you like to amend? What do you need to trust Bruce more?’’  
  
‘’I need him to stop being a drill sergeant for five freaking minutes and let me do this in my own pace.’’  
  
‘’Good’’ J’onn nods, because it is. ‘’That’s very good, Dick. And you, Bruce?’’  
  
Bruce moves his jaws around again, chewing and chewing and glaring at J’onn as a silent promise that the next time they meet on the job, he’s going to punch him. J’onn takes no offense at the threatening aura. Quite frankly, it amuses him.   
  
‘’I want him to go through with his therapy and actively try to get better – ‘’  
  
‘’You keep using that word, but I’m not sure we have established what it means. What is better, Bruce?’’  
  
‘’Better is eating. Better is sleeping, better is  _telling_  me about nightmares and better is being able to go outside. Better is going back to school and, if he wants, to return to the job.’’ Bruce sneaks a short glance at his ward. ‘’Better is not jumping from buildings.’’  
  
Dick snaps like a twig. His glare is close enough to rival that of his mentor, only much more raw, much more hurt than Batman’s ever been able or willing to show.   
  
‘’Well, maybe if you’d have _been_  there!’’ He’s almost out of his chair, supporting himself against the armrests, limbs shaking, voice cutting like sharp glass. ‘’Maybe if you’d been there on time this wouldn’t have happened, maybe if you hadn’t  _let me down_  I wouldn’t be in this mess!’’  
  
The silence has never been this heavy. J’onn feels twitchy in his skin, and Bruce looks like he’s, for the first time, unable to think of a response. Dick, meanwhile, is shaking, violently, eyes glassy but fighting the tears because he can’t be vulnerable now, can’t be a little wounded kid because he is  _angry_. So madly furious he just wants to tear and ruin and destroy until there is nothing left to hurt him.

‘’You save people  _every_  day, Bruce. That’s all you do. That’s the reason you get up in the morning. Strangers in the streets, people who sometimes barely deserve it but for some reason, when it comes to me, your  _partner_ , you just … you just really dropped the ball on that one, didn’t you?’’ He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s yelling now. But he doesn’t care. He wants to yell. Wants to scream until his throat rips in two. He wants to bleed the storm out. ‘’Why? Why couldn’t you…  _Why_? What did I  _do_? I wasn’t worth it? It wasn’t worth the effort? Did you even  _look_? Two weeks, Bruce!  _Two_  god damn  _weeks_! You just… let them…  _You_  let them…’’ he trails off, shaking in his entire body as his voice falters and breaks, crashes against the hard, cold silence and falls apart.  
  
Dick can’t stop the tears even if he’d tried. So he cries, quietly, hoping his hands are enough to hide his face, to hide his shame and humiliation. Hide him from Bruce. J’onn. Hide him from everything.  
  
Bruce looks like struck by lightning. Eyes hard and dazed at the same time, like he’s frozen solid and the words just roll and roll inside him. J’onn can’t feel what’s going on past his mental barriers; even if he could, he’s not sure he wants to.  
  
It feels inappropriate to speak. Like he’s treading on holy ground and any word out of his mouth would be blasphemy. The unstable, choked sobs from Dick are all that’s audible above the wild beat of his own heart.  
  
‘’I…’’ J’onn clears his throat. ‘’Maybe it is for the best that we end for today.’’  
  
Bruce doesn’t respond, doesn’t look at either of them as he gets to his feet and out of the room. J’onn sits with Dick, a silent support reaching out to him while the boy curls into himself, hoping that if he just closes his eyes long enough, everything bad will go away.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this is the last of the pre-written chapters. i also have a job now, which means updating will be slowing down from now on. after this is gonna be new material and i'm super nervous! but also excited.

The morning of Dick’s birthday starts just like every other. He lies in bed long after he’s awakened, waiting for his limbs to regain some of their mobility; for a good long while afraid to open his eyes, just in case the room he wakes up in won’t be his own. But it is, just like always.   
  
It’s 9 a.m and Dick gets up without Alfred’s help. The old man gives him a small, small smile that somehow makes the effort worth it. Dick drags himself to the shower, into clean clothes, down the stairs and into the kitchen where a plate of pancakes is waiting for him. Typical birthday breakfast, but he’s still surprised to see them.   
  
He tries for at least half an hour to get it down, but his best efforts can’t make the food easier to swallow, or settle his stomach from boldly flipping at every bite. Even so, he keeps chewing.  
  
It’s after forty-five minutes, roughly, that he pushes the plate away. To his complete lack of surprise, Bruce isn’t home. Bruce is never home at this hour, not even on Dick’s birthday and though he expected it, he can’t help but feel a slight tang of disappointment.   
  
‘’Someone’s unhappy about pancakes, I see’’  
  
Dick whips around in the chair, heart racing at the sudden intrusion of a voice that doesn’t belong. Someone’s in the kitchen and they could very well be there to kill him and he should be more  _careful_  but it’s just Selina, he realizes, after a few moments. Which doesn’t exactly help calm him down because Selina is  _never_  in their kitchen these days, and he knows the only reason people ever visit them anymore is to bring bad news. She doesn’t look like she’s got something terrible to tell him, but he’s been surprised before.  
  
‘’Hey, kiddo’’ Her smile remains warm. ‘’Heard it’s your birthday.’’  
  
Dick swallows, muscles still jumping in preparation to run, from whatever danger that may or may not be awaiting him.   
  
‘’Same time as last year’’ He says and cringes at the way his voice comes out.  
  
‘’Imagine that’’  
  
She sways over to him, movements fluid, graceful but always with that hint of danger about her. Dick keeps his eyes on her like she’s going to unfold into some kind of beast, maybe take him with him, never to be seen again. She gives him an amused look, as if she can see the turmoil in his head. She reaches out and steals some whipped cream off his plate, licking her finger with a raised brow.  
  
‘’So’’ she says. ‘’Gonna sit here all day or are you gonna come with me for a ring-a-ding-ding?’’  
  
Dick narrows his eyes.  
  
‘’Uhm’’  
  
‘’I take that as a no then. Come on, birdboy, we’re going out’’  
  
She snaps her fingers and gets moving. Dick turns around in his chair to stare after her, but as she’s not stopping, Dick – against his better judgment because  _why_  – gets to his feet. Still not entirely sure what’s going on, he runs after her like he’s late for an appointment he can’t remember making.  
  
‘’Uh, Selina?’’  
  
‘’That’s me’’  
  
‘’Where – Why – Does Bruce – ?’’  
  
She gives a little wink and a smile over her shoulder as Alfred hands his coat to him. Dick hadn’t even noticed the butler appearing and if he hadn’t been such a mess he would be freaking out, but instead all his attention is focused on fighting the massive headache growing between his temples.  
  
‘’What? I can’t visit you when I want?’’ She tilts her head. ‘’Don’t tell me you didn’t miss me.’’  
  
Dick doesn’t have the ability to respond so while he’s busy staring at her she puts her coat back on, giving him a nudging look as Dick still has to get into his. When he’s dressed, Alfred waves them off and Dick follows Selina dazedly down the path leading to the gates. During their whole trek they say nothing, but Selina seems just as content with the silence.  
  
‘’Hop in’’ she pats the roof of the very large, very fancy limousine parked up front and Dick is about to ask her about it when she just gives him a look that tells him it’s better not to. Skeptically, he gets inside.  
  
‘’Scoot over’’

He makes room for her and she stretches out long and loose on the seat. The limousine starts moving, but Dick’s mind remains unable to.  
  
‘’Okay’’ He says. ‘’This is... What are we doing?’’  
  
‘’I’m kidnapping you. Isn’t it obvious?’’  
  
Dick’s questioning frown is met by a smooth smile.  
  
‘’It’s your birthday and I knew Bruce would probably be working, because he’s boring that way, and I was intending to pay you a visit anyway. Today seemed like a good time.’’  
  
‘’Uh’’ He says, frowning. ‘’Okay. Uh.’’  
  
‘’Are you gonna be this eloquent the entire time?’’  
  
‘’Where are we going?’’  
  
Selina shrugs.  
  
‘’I was thinking ice cream’’ Her mouth curls around the words before turning into another smile. ‘’And I know just the place.’’  


* * *

 

  
‘’So how have you been?’’  
  
Terrible. That’s not a good conversational topic though, so he opts for a white lie instead.  
  
‘’Just fine’’ He plays around with the ice cream, melting slowly in his bowl as he forces himself to spoon it into his mouth. It’s sweet, but nothing more. ‘’And you? Staying out of trouble?’’  
  
Selina chuckles lightly.  
  
‘’I don’t find trouble, trouble finds me.’’  
  
‘’Sure’’  
  
‘’Mhm’’ She nods, picking a cherry off her sundae and rolling it between her teeth. ‘’I’ve been on my best behavior.’’  
  
There’s something in the way she looks at him that Dick has seen before, but it’s coated in a fondness that obscures its true nature. Her smile is genuine and nothing is really strained about the way she talks. She’s casual. She’s comfortable and something Dick has sorely missed. But her eyes can’t fully mask that little  _thing_ , and it has gnawed on him the entire ride over. So much in fact that focusing on the ice cream now becomes exhausting.  
  
‘’Why are you really here?’’ He says, finally. He doesn’t intend for it to sound as harsh as it does, but so it goes.  
  
‘’You don’t think I worry about you?’’  
  
He stares down at his bowl, hands tightening around it.  
  
‘’So I guess you know then’’  
  
‘’Kid,  _everybody_  knows’’ Something about her gets taut as she sees the way his eyes dart, the twitch to his hands and he recognizes the start of a panic attack forming in his chest. ‘’Hey, hey, take it easy’’  
  
Dick takes a few deep breaths but they don’t help. He just wants to crawl under the table and disappear because dear God what if she  _knows_  and she’s just pitying him because he’s a pitiful miserable excuse for – he takes another deep breath and tells himself to  _calm down_ , he can’t jump to conclusions, it’s probably nothing, it’s probably fine but it doesn’t feel fine at all.  
  
‘’I wanted to come as soon as… You know. The news.’’ And Dick relaxes at that as if he exhales out all his bones because he’s so  _relieved_  she’s talking about the jump and nothing else. ‘’But I got tied up, and not in a fun way’’  
  
Dick makes a pained face that was supposed to be a smile.  
  
‘’I just wanted to see how you were doing’’ Selina shrugs. ‘’You can’t get Bruce to say a damn word, so, here I am’’  
  
She reaches out for his arm on the table and even though Dick has practiced this, with J’onn, and done all those exercises; trained himself not to react like this, he can’t help the violent flinch as they touch.   
  
All the people swarm around them and they’re loud, so close and he’s too aware of them, every move they make has Dick twitch and jump in his seat. If the God damn pills could just do their  _job_  maybe he’d be able to do normal things like eat ice cream with Bruce’s will-they-won’t-they girlfriend and  _maybe_  just maybe he could finally be normal. But nothing ever really works that way and instead he’s caught in a mix of cotton numbness and panic, swamped together to one big, soggy mess.  
  
‘’Does anyone know?’’ It’s just a simple question but it serves to shatter every last doubt Dick had.  


He stares at her and she looks right back, unyielding and sad, for some awful reason. Like he’s hurt her just by sitting there, just by being ruined and useless and Dick has gotten so tired of the pity.   
  
‘’Everyone who watched the news knows’’ He tries to deflect anyway, derail the conversation and get it off and away from him, but Selina won’t let go and a small part of Dick expected that. 

At the same time Selina doesn’t look pitying at all, not like everyone else has done during this long, terrible mess of a personal journey. Instead she looks at him like she actually, truly, somehow, understands. She sees him, for all the bad and terrible things he is, and she doesn’t seem surprised.  
  
‘’You’re not dirty. Different, maybe but… Not ruined’’ She says, sounding much softer than before. ‘’You didn’t deserve what they did. No matter what you think’’  
  
Dick stares pointedly at his ice cream which is nothing more than a melted mess by now.  
  
‘’How did..?’’ He says and he doesn’t know why, just feels like he  _can_. That she’ll listen and she’ll  _get it_ , somehow. ‘’How did you..?’’  
  
‘’Know?’’ She picks the cherry out of his ice cream soup and twirls it between her fingers. ‘’Do you know what I did before I became the cat burglar?’’  
  
Dick nods very slowly. Bruce had told him a very long time ago. Dick hadn’t thought a lot about it as soon as Selina came into their lives, no longer as an enemy or a villain but a person; a person who made Bruce smile occasionally and who liked to tease Alfred and could get away with it. Someone who always had their backs in the field even if her allegiance was dubious at times. Who she was before didn’t paint who she became, and so it didn’t really matter.  
  
‘’It’s very common in that line of work. I saw a lot of girls get treated badly by their…  _bosses_.’’ Both of them are watching the cherry just twirl and twirl like a little, red tornado. The thought makes his chest hurt again, in that old familiar melancholy he’s come to think of as a friend. ‘’I’ve seen enough to know the signs.’’  
  
Dick clenches his jaws before he looks away.  
  
‘’I don’t want them to know.’’ The voice that pours out of his mouth doesn’t even sound like his.  
  
‘’Because they’ll judge?’’  
  
‘’Because I want them to see me like they used to see me. I don’t want to be…’’ he trails off but doesn’t need to continue, because Selina already knows.  
  
‘’You think you’re spent and you’d like them to think you’re your old, better self? If they think that, maybe it’ll be true, even just a little?’’  
  
His mouth is a tight, tight line. She bites the cherry off and chews in thoughtful silence for a while.  
  
‘’It won’t work.’’ The utter finality of her words should strike much harder than it does. For some reason it doesn’t feel as much as an irreversible verdict; more like a truth he’s known damn well all this time was out there, waiting for him. ‘’Kiddo, believe me, I've seen it happen before. Girls I worked with, they’d do that too. It never led to anything good, in the end. Lying to your friends never does.’’  
  
‘’It’s just…’’ He sighs. ‘’I don’t know.  _Easier_.’’  
  
‘’Yeah, I know.’’ She smiles at him. ‘’I also know you need to remember who your friends are, because if you lose your trust in them... It's gonna be lonely.’’  
  
They don’t speak for a while after that. They don’t really have to. Dick feels himself calm down, though still twitching like someone rubbed itching powder all over the inside of his skin. But he doesn’t feel the need to run from her, anymore. Selina orders hot chocolate for the both of them, and Dick doesn’t have as much of a problem drinking it down as he thought he would. She picks a marshmallow from his mug, winks teasingly as he gives her a glare, then steals another one. When Dick complains about the theft, her response is to flick some whipped cream at his nose.  
  
‘’You shouldn’t be mean to me when it’s my birthday!’’ he whines, wiping it off with his sleeve.   
  
Selina just chuckles.  
  
‘’I don’t get to be mean to you just because it’s your special day?’’ She huffs. ‘’Says who?’’  
  
‘’Says me. Stop stealing my marshmallows!’’  
  
‘’But they’re so  _tasty_.’’  
  
Dick crosses his arms.  
  
‘’I thought you were more into jewels, anyway.’’  
  
‘’Don’t be silly. You can’t  _eat_  jewels.’’  
  
Dicks glares even harder but Selina just smirks at him. For the first time in too long, he finds himself able to breathe, without the sensation that he’s got gravel in his lungs, or acid in his throat. It’s so strange that the realization takes a long, long time to dawn on him, but Dick actually feels relaxed in her presence. Knowing that she knows hasn’t settled itself between them like an awkward, third presence.

It hasn’t perched itself on his shoulder, a personal demon to scream in his ear that she knows that he’s broken and that he should run. Dick feels nothing, except that he can stop, for just this moment, he can stop guarding his back with every weapon in his armory.  
  
‘’Thank you’’ he says, ignoring the thickness in his throat. ‘’For…’’  
  
The words falter, as they so often do, but he doesn’t think he needs them, this time.  
  
‘’We gotta look out for each other, right?’’  
  
‘’Yeah’’ Dick nods. Swallows. Breathes. ‘’Yeah, I guess we do.’’  


 

* * *

 

  
  
Selina gives him a ride over to the mountain and the journey there is pleasant. They talk about really mundane things, normal things and Dick relishes in the ease of it, how effortlessly he slips into it as if it’s an old suit he hasn’t exactly grown out of, just misplaced for a while. He wishes every encounter could feel like this; that everything could be this simple and not like trying to fit the square block through the triangle hole.   
  
Part of him is ashamed because he can’t be like this with Wally, or even J’onn who tries so hard Dick wonders if it’s really worth the effort. He trusts the team, trusts Alfred and Bruce with his life, still somehow having them know the darkest, most terrifying part of his person is too frightening for him to handle. Why or how Selina managed to do what no one has done, he doesn’t know. He wonders if it’d make a difference, if he did.  
  
Wally had made arrangements for the party a week or so ago, and as flattered Dick had been at the effort, he’d also felt crushed underneath the weight of the anticipation. Of the expectation that he’d be there – something Dick couldn’t guarantee, can’t guarantee even now that he won’t turn around at the door and run away – and Wally said it’d be okay, if he didn’t feel up to it, when the time came. Wally would understand. Of course he would; Wally always does, which is why he feels so terrible even now because he still isn’t convinced he won’t disappoint him.  
  
They’re his teammates, his friends, hell, his family, yet the very thought of being around them, surrounded by them, the center of attention and the possibility that they will see all his flaws and his errors and hate him, it kicks up a quickened beat in his chest and Dick has to remind himself of the breathing exercises. He can’t panic before he even walks through the door.  
  
‘’Alright, here we are’’ Selina says. ‘’Old JLA headquarters, huh?’’  
  
‘’You know?’’  
  
She smiles.  
  
‘’Of course I know’’  
  
Dick regards her for a moment, feeling himself calm down. The door opens to his side and she waves impatiently at him.  
  
‘’Go, off with you! Go play with your little friends. I bet they all miss you.’’  
  
Dick climbs out of the car like a gangly spider, feeling unbalanced ever since he got on the pills. He leans down to look at her one final time before he goes, maybe gathering strength through the familiarity, through the sense of  _it’s not okay but it will be_  pooling in her smile.  
  
‘’Give ‘em hell’’ She says.  
  
He nods. ‘’I’ll try. Thanks, by the way, for …’’  
  
‘’Yeah, I know. You’ll have to take me out to dinner sometime and we’ll call it even, okay? Now quit stalling!’’  
  
He rolls his eyes and steps away from the car, hands instinctively digging themselves into his pockets.   
  
‘’If you need anything, you know how to find me’’  
  
‘’Yeah’’ Dick swallows. ‘’I know’’  
  
‘’Happy birthday, kiddo’’  
  
She gives him one last smile and then, just like that, the door closes and she’s gone.  
  
He watches the limousine pull out of the driveway and disappear. For a while he just stands listening to the sounds around him; half assessing their proximity and nature, half letting them lull his breathing into an even, controlled rhythm. Then he turns around, stares at the mountain like the last, final obstacle on his hero’s journey, takes a very deep breath and starts walking.

 

* * *

 

‘’ _Happy birthday_!’’  
  
Dick flinches at the chorus of voices that greets him the moment he steps inside. A sudden rain of confetti sails down from the ceiling and he nearly starts hyperventilating again, until he assures himself that yes, he is wearing his glasses and no, no one’s coming at him. In fact, they’re all standing unceremoniously far away, awkwardly as if not wanting to spook him while trying to be causal about it. Everyone’s there, save for Tornado and Canary, along with two people he doesn’t know. They’re all wearing casual, but festive, clothing; even Superboy has somehow been wrestled into a party hat.  
  
‘’Robin!’’ It’s M’gann who approaches him first. ‘’It’s so good to see you!’’  
  
She doesn’t try to hug him this time, something he’s not sure if it’s a relief or a reminder of his personal failures. He notices now she’s not just wearing a party hat, but also a sparkly garland has been wrapped around her neck.  
  
‘’Merry Birthmas!’’ She says and holds out a platter of sad looking ginger bread men, most of them looking like they went through a nasty house fire. When he looks closer, he sees they’ve all been decorated to look like members of the Justice League.  
  
‘’Merry Birthmas’’ He says in turn and offers her a small smile, taking the cookie that looks like Aquaman and also the one least burnt.  
  
It’s strange to see them after this long; part of him had expected them to look exactly the same, and in a way they do, but there’s something new about them. Something far away and it takes him a while to realize it’s experience; that during all this time he’s spent sulking and hiding they’ve all been out there, in the real world. Things have happened and he’s not sure how to feel about the fact that he’s missed all of it.  
  
‘’So, uhm –‘’ He tries to sound flippant but mostly it just sounds too practiced. Dick feels the normalcy from earlier slipping away; moving and talking and breathing like a tin man, looking human but not being it. ‘’How have you guys been?’’  
  
‘’Oh, right!  _Duh_!’’ M’gann slaps her forehead then steps aside to show the two strangers. ‘’We got new teammates! This is Zatanna and this is Rocket –‘’  
  
‘’New teammates?’’ The stutter in his voice is nearly imperceptible, but they all manage to pick up on it anyway and the levity of the situation suddenly goes bone dry with tension. 

Wally casts him a worried glance and Dick knows he’s about to cause a scene, tries to smile convincingly and play it off like he doesn’t care, because really, it was expected, and he’s been gone for so long but a small, stupid part of him didn’t want to believe he was so expendable.  
  
‘’That’s uh—‘’ His smile wavers and it becomes a struggle to keep it up. Shakily, he runs a hand through his hair and inhales. ‘’Great! So, uh, what do you guys, uh, do?’’

Rocket gives M’gann a cautious look, probably feels the tension loading the air and asks silently for direction on how to proceed. Dick guesses she’s more of the brash nature, though she probably thinks before she acts and it’s an acidic taste that rises in his mouth as he thinks she’d go great along with Wally.  
  
‘’Well, uh, Rocket –‘’ M’gann wavers for a moment. ‘’You uh –‘’  
  
‘’I manipulate kinetic energy and bend it to my will, pretty much’’ She smiles tightly. ‘’And you can call me Raquel’’  
  
‘’Yeah!’’ M’gann laughs nervously. ‘’And Zatanna –‘’  
  
‘’Daughter of Giovanni Zatara’’ Dick says, sounding mechanic. ‘’That must make you magic, huh?’’  
  
‘’Well, yeah’’ Zatanna smiles uncertainly and Dick is too cold with jealousy to even feel bad about it.   
  
It seems like the only thing he’s good for, anymore; taking people’s benevolence and souring it, stomping on it before their eyes. He doesn’t really deserve this celebration, doesn’t deserve people going to such lengths, such efforts for him when he’s not worth it, in the end. He wonders if deep down they all know, if they’re just waiting for him to tell them it’s okay, they can quit trying, go home, relieve themselves of the burden that is Dick Grayson.

The words are so close to tripping out, so dangerously placed on his tongue, but he swallows them down because that’s what J’onn would tell him to do. Deep breaths, reassess the situation. What’s causing the reaction, why’s it causing it and should it be causing it? Dick makes a nervous little keening sound he’s not quite sure what to call, someplace at the back of his throat where truths go to die, and makes the widest, fakest smile he can.  
  
‘’So how do you guys like the team?’’  
  
They talk for a long time but he doesn’t really listen. They seem nice enough, and though it’s a little nervous to be part of a team for the first time, they like it. Dick doesn’t care, doesn’t  _want_  them to like it, his thoughts going bitter and mean faster than he can control. He reminds himself, over and over, to stop doing it. Be nice. Smile. Be you,  _old_  you, he tells himself. The Robin that they want, the one they’ve heard about and remember.

They have no idea who he is now, he realizes, and the rest of the room fades out of view as if sucked through a vacuum. It feels as if he’s watching it all from very far away.  
  
Everyone keeps offering him cake. There are two of them; one botched, miserable attempt which Conner motions, behind M’gann’s back,  _not_  to eat. M’gann is just about to offer him some, oblivious to his warnings, but by that time Conner’s already handed Dick a large piece of what has to be store bought cake. Strawberry, he notes, absently.  
  
Dick smiles and thanks and talks and listens and goes through all the motions of a regular person. Tries to remember what he used to do, used to say. Sometimes he succeeds in imitating it. Sometimes not. Mostly he tosses the cake away when no one is looking, only to be handed a new piece shortly enough. He would feel bad about throwing it out, but he thinks he’d feel worse about throwing up on the floor.  
  
The day goes on like that. People go through extreme lengths trying not to mention suicide or anything remotely related to Dick’s personal struggles. It’s nice, but transparent, and ignoring the elephant only makes him feel incredibly tired.  
  
He is exhausted by the time M’gann and Billy have started playing Pin the Tail, people gathered around them and laughing. Wally, who’s been hovering by his side since he arrived, in an awkward sort of way as if he’s trying to give him space and be close at the same time, looks at them with a tired grin.  
  
Dick thinks about everything. Everything Wally’s done for him, everything anyone’s done, how hard he’s tried to push them away. The reasons he has for it and the logic part of his brain arguing against them. That logic had been silenced by fear and anger, but awakens more and more each week of therapy that goes by.

J’onn eases him back into critical thinking, into rational thought, a world of math and logic where things make  _sense_. He hadn’t realized how depraved he was of it, until now. Now when everything in the room, in the moment, is threatening, and each time he fights down a surging swell of panic, he is reminded of how strange everything has become.  
  
And through that, through all of that, Wally’s been there.  
  
‘’Hey, Wally’’ Dick says, looking down at his nth plate of uneaten cake, mashing and spreading it around to make it appear smaller.  
  
‘’Hmm?’’ Wally says, half focused on the game.  
  
‘’I just –‘’ Dick frowns. ‘’Thank you.’’  
  
Wally turns to him then, a small smile creeping across his lips.  
  
‘’You haven’t even opened the presents yet’’  
  
‘’There are presents?’’  
  
‘’Well, duh, it’s a Birthmas party!’’ Wally rolls his eyes. ‘’And stop doing that face! Don’t panic, you didn’t get me a gift, it’s  _okay_ ’’  
  
Dick wasn’t entirely aware he was even making a face, but promptly stops doing it. Wally shakes his head.  
  
‘’Your gift to me can be to  _relax_ , okay? For just five minutes’’  
  
Dick bites his lip, staring at the five fingers. Dick takes a deep breath and lets the comfort he only finds with Wally grow, lets it spread, into the tips of his fingers and through the knobs of his spine. He breathes.  
  
‘’That’s the spirit’’ Wally says with a teasing grin.  
  
Dick makes a petulant face.

 ‘’Did you get a Birthmas tree as well?’’  
  
The sarcasm completely flies over Wally’s head, which is a shame, because it’s the best sarcasm he’s managed in weeks.   
  
‘’Yeah, you can thank Con for that’’  
  
‘’What?’’  
  
‘’Perks of having a Superboy; you can just rip a tree straight up! It’s in the yard, because M’gann didn’t feel right cutting it up and putting it inside.’’ He gestures wildly with his hands. ‘’I didn’t ask because last thing I need to know is if trees have feelings, you know?’’  
  
Dick just stares at him until Wally starts to fidget, glancing back and forth between his friend and the festivities.  
  
‘’ _Du_ de’’ he says tightly, and Dick can’t help but find the blush creeping up his neck, making all his little freckles stand out, absolutely endearing. ‘’Quit staring!’’  
  
‘’I –‘’ Dick huffs out a short, disbelieving little breath. ‘’Huh’’  
  
‘’ _What_?’’  
  
Dick shakes his head. The smile feels strange to his lips, stiff and alien, but not entirely unknown.   
  
‘’Nothing, it’s just…’’ He looks at Wally again, feeling silly. ‘’Today’s a pretty good day’’  
  
Wally opens his mouth and for a moment Dick thinks he’s going to be insulted; hurt because Dick isn’t having the absolute best time of his life, but his eyes soften and his mouth lifts in a tiny smile.   
  
‘’Yeah?’’  
  
Because Wally  _understands_. Somehow, for some reason, he does. Maybe not all of it all of the time, but enough, enough for it to matter.  
  
‘’Yeah’’  
  
Wally nods and they go silent, after that. But Dick breathes easier, around the rocks and lumps in his chest, the sting in his throat; over and under obstacles of jealousy, inadequacy, guilt and shame that burns steadily at the back of his mind. He lets his shoulders release and he breathes. Because none of that really matters at this particular moment.  
  
‘’Hey’’ Wally says through the wild laughter of the others. M’gann has managed to pin the tail, hoisted up on Conner’s shoulders in a little victory lap, arms raised and voice shouting in celebration. ‘’You wanna give it a go?’’  
  
Dick frowns. There is fear fluttering, steady behind his breast bone and Dick takes a moment to hesitate. Takes a moment to remind himself of how to participate; in life and everything that includes. Then, he nods.  
  
‘’Yeah’’ he says, shakily, and meets Wally’s eyes. ‘’Yeah, okay’’  
  
Wally smiles then nods with the same resolve as if they’d just agreed to head into battle. Maybe, in a way, they have. Just like old times.  
  
And just like old times, strangely enough, they’re doing it side by side.  


 

* * *

 

  
  
''Hey''  
  
Dick is out of breath, fighting hard not to lose himself to a panicked string of thought of how unfit he is, how quickly he's gasping for air, or how easy it is to tire him. It will serve no purpose, save to bring him down in the end, and so he tries not to. Not today. Not this, of all days. Everyone's tried so hard, it's only fair he tries, too.  
  
''Hey'' He pants, not looking at her. In fact, he’s trying very hard to do anything  _but_. ''What's up?''  
  
Artemis moves uncomfortably around him like he's a fire and she's sensitive to heat. That old familiar lump in his throat returns, because he feels her eyes on him and knows what she's probably seeing. Knows even though his own memories are vague, her own aren't.  
  
''Just wanted to see how you were enjoying your party, birthday boy'' She goes quiet, her voice low. ''Fourteen, huh?''  
  
''Time moves quickly''  
  
''Still no sight of that growth spurt, though''  
  
Dick huffs. ''Yeah, well, girls develop earlier than boys''  
  
''Yeah’’ She frowns. ‘’I guess''  
  
The silence returns, sticky to his skin, or maybe that's just the sweat. He can hear her breathing, unwillingly focusing on every minute twitch of her body, every breath and every shuffle of her feet. She's uncomfortable, his senses tell him; non-threatening probably, yet the relentless awareness of everything she does refuses to cease. He takes a deep breath, two, three, reminds himself over and over he's being irrational. It doesn't help as much as he'd like.  
  
''So are we gonna talk about it or..?''  
  
Dick clenches his jaws. ''There's nothing to talk about''  
  
''I just saved your life but yeah, sure, nothing to talk about''  


He dares just one quick glance at her. She doesn't look mad, just tired. Dick frowns at the ground, because it's easier to look at than the bags under her eyes.  
  
''I'd thank you if I were actually grateful''  
  
Artemis sighs.  
  
''You would've done the same for me''  
  
Dick grinds his teeth down, nasty, rude retorts building up under the swell of his tongue. He breathes again, one, two, three, four times. Reminds himself it's not her fault and when has she ever done anything except the best for him, anyway? When has she ever been anything other than kind? Often without much reason or grounds for it, and here he is again, wanting nothing but to walk all over it. Bury it deep in the mud where he won't have to acknowledge it nor the guilt that it brings.  
  
''Hey, I'm not here to fight or anything'' She says, still with that angry tone to her voice. ''Today's supposed to be all about celebration, so, that's what we're gonna do. I just wanted you to know that I...''   
  
She goes quiet, wondering if she's even sure of her own intentions, herself. She sighs again, motioning vaguely with the hand not clutching her side. ''You're probably angry with me, and I get that, and we have a lot to talk about and whenever you're ready, I'm up for it''  
  
''No chance we're gonna just move on and pretend it never happened?'' Dick knows he's sounding bitter, knows there's acid to his words and that she doesn't deserve any of it. But to be honest, he's not really trying to hold it at bay.  
  
''Come on, Dick'' she whispers. ''You know it's never that simple''  
  
He turns towards her, eyes narrowed behind the glasses, which tint her face in a sickened sort of gray. It enhances the shadows around her eyes, the sharpness of her bones; the remorse in her gaze. He holds it for all of two seconds before turning back to whatever it is the others are doing; still on about their games, laughing and touching and moving on like the world never stopped for them at all.   
  
''I know'' he says. ''Be nice if it did''  
  
Artemis hums in acknowledgment, staring out at the scene in front of them as well. They're playing some sort of tag game now, it seems. Zatanna wearing a blind fold in an attempt to catch them.  
  
''No cheating!'' M'gann shouts as Wally zooms past her, Kaldur shaking his head with an eyeroll.  
  
Artemis snorts when Wally trips and brings Conner and Kaldur down with him.   
  
''You know'' she says, while the laughter and the shouting reaches its peak. ‘’Roy’s gonna tear you a new one as soon as he gets the chance’’  
  
‘’Why hasn’t he?’’  
  
‘’I told him to give you some space or I’d rip  _him_  a new one’’  
  
‘’Like that’s ever stopped him before?’’ Dick huffs. ‘’Is that why he’s not here today?’’  
  
‘’I guess it’s gonna be hard for him to be in the same room with you without getting angry’’  
  
‘’Yeah, most people feel that way’’  
  
Artemis sighs sharply. ‘’Yeah, well, getting angry doesn’t really help, does it?’’  
  
‘’Does anything?’’  
  
She turns to him then, and he can feel her eyes on him like a magnetic pull, forcing him to turn and meet her gaze. The weight of it is almost too much, but he keeps the contact, refuses to look away this time because it feels important not to.  
  
‘’You’re here now, aren’t you?’’  
  
Dick swallows but his throat remains too dry.   
  
‘’I’m on meds now’’   
  
‘’ _Plea_ se. The meds may be helping but the progress? That’s all you, Dick. You may be less of a sourpuss but you and Batman are just as bad as each other when it comes to being stubborn’’  
  
Dick looks down at his hands, a cold sensation settling in over his skin, dressing his bones in a way all too familiar.  
  
‘’I don’t feel better’’  
  
‘’No’’ she nods. ‘’And you probably won’t, at least, not for a while. But you’re moving forward. At a snail’s pace, sure, but…’’   
  
He’s not sure why, but he’s launched into a tight little swell of fear, a sudden distress over the fact that he’s getting better; that the dark is letting go, and if it lets go there will be nothing but a vast and threatening unknown.  _Life_ , out there, waiting for him. A life with endless possibilities where everything can go wrong again; he’s making a steady climb up and Dick knows, better than anyone, that the highest climbs also have the worst falls. 

His breathing picks up and he clenches his fists against it, against the anger at himself, the utter self-disgust because he’s so  _tired_. He wants out, he wants to be normal and carefree; he wants to be just Dick Grayson again, fourteen year old mathlete and superhero. He wants everything to go back to the way it was so why,  _why_  is the thought of that so terrifying?   
  
‘’Can we –‘’ he swallows. ‘’Not talk about it for today?’’  
  
Artemis studies him for a moment, her expression unreadable, before she nods.  
  
‘’Yeah, sure, circus boy’’  
  
‘’Hey, Robin!’’ Raquel’s shout interrupts whatever reply he’d have given, and they both turn to see her waving her arm at them. ‘’Time to open your gifts!’’  


 

* * *

 

  
  
It turns out the tree isn’t exactly a Christmas tree, as much as a large oak that’s been dressed in unsettling amounts of garlands and what M’gann explains to be ’authentic Martian celebratory decorations’. He doesn’t even want to ask how much time she spent on it, and it’s almost overwhelming, to have that much effort and care directed at him, but it’s not like he has a lot of time to think about it when Wally – wearing a Santa hat and beard despite the oppressive spring heat – starts handing presents out. Apparently he’s practiced his Santa laugh for weeks.  
  
Dick feels mostly uncomfortable, because they’ve all gone through effort to buy gifts for each other, and here he stands with nothing, as usual, but Wally seems to already be two steps ahead of him; interrupting any train of thought and self-accusatory inner monologue with distractions, in the form of jabs and jokes and one or other intentional trip of his feet. As well as a third unintentional one.  
  
The gifts are inexpensive and largely impersonal, but the sentiment is enough for him to feel overwhelmed. They’re acts of caring, that much is obvious, especially in the ranging quality of wrapping. Hands, gentle and ungentle, clumsy and practiced, have worked hard on each one, and thought has been put into all of them. M’gann’s even made some pretty decent non-alcoholic eggnog for the occasion. There’s also snow, thanks to a hastily mumbled  _‘’llaf wons’’_  from Zatanna, and Dick doesn’t even wanna know how the weather channel’s gonna feel about that in the afternoon report.  
  
‘’This is to Robin from –‘’ Wally narrows his eyes at the scribbled mess of handwriting. ‘’Red  _Arrow_ , my, my! Watch out Rob, it may be a bomb!’’  
  
He tosses it at Dick with just a second of head’s up, and once the initial surge of panic has subsided, he’s mostly staring at the box in quiet surprise that he actually has any reflexes left to catch it. It’s a small thing, barely the size of his fist, and once the poor, half-assed job of wrapping has been undone, what remains is a single business card and a token.  
  
‘’ _Ray’s LaserTag Arena, open six days a week, five to ten, Star City_ ’’ Dick frowns. ‘’Laser tag?’’  
  
‘’I didn’t know Roy knew how to have fun’’ Wally says, for which he is elbowed by Artemis.  
  
‘’That’s nice of him’’ M’gann says, clutching her hands. ‘’Maybe he just wants you to have a good time, take your mind off things?’’  
  
Dick frowns at the token. ‘’Yeah, or he wants to lure me out back and kill me’’  
  
It’s a joke, mostly, and if anyone picks up on the underlying suspicion, nobody mentions it. After that the gifts remain mostly mundane, and everyone quickly forgets about it. It keeps spinning in his mind, though, like a constant background noise. Until Dick becomes largely focused with trying to figure out what Roy could possibly be thinking, too much to really pay attention to any of the others.  
  
They mostly just sit out on the grass, watching clouds graze by and talking about anything from the latest funny supervillain mishap – most courtesy of Wally – and any future plans of M’gann’s to redecorate the cave, as well as a number of things Dick simply doesn’t listen to.  


It’s strange, because it’s almost like he’s been transported back in time, back in his memories, maybe, and here they all are; exactly as he remembers them, just different. He hadn’t thought about it much, hadn’t thought about anything outside himself in months, but now the fear and worry is creeping over him again, crawling through the numb blanket of a haze the pills provide. The worry becomes more theoretical, as the emotions get held at bay, but it’s there, nonetheless. He wonders how much they’ll change next time he comes for a visit, wonders if time will continue moving in a blink to him, until suddenly a lifetime has passed without him even noticing.  
  
Because he might be stuck in the same place, day by day in a shallow grave built by his own small hands. But the rest of the world moves on, and keeps moving, at a steady yet unpredictable pace. What’s there to say the next time they’ll even be the same people? What if, next time they replace him, it’ll be definitely, permanently? What’s to say they’ll even remember or care for him when that time comes?  
  
Dick’s not fully aware of how engrossed in himself he’s been. It’s so easy to just disappear inside his head, these days, and it’s stupid, because a crime fighter can never afford to put their guard down, but Dick’s been becoming less and less of one, lately.  
  
‘’Robin?’’ M’gann startles him, making him twitch at the sight of her being suddenly by his side, despite there being a pretty wide distance between them. ‘’Sorry, I didn’t mean to –‘’  
  
‘’No, it’s fine’’ He clears his throat. ‘’Hi, miss M’’  
  
‘’Hi’’ She smiles apologetically. Then, shifting as if sitting on some big secret, moving under her skin, she looks down at her own hands where they stroke the grass. ‘’I didn’t mean to pry but – ‘’ She frowns, looking for the right words between the blades of green. ‘’You know that’s not true, right? Any of it’’  
  
She meets his gaze then, so head on, so defiantly, he has to consciously stop himself from flinching away.  
  
‘’What?’’ When it dawns on him, he feels sick. ‘’You  _read_  my  _mind_? M’gann, I thought we told you –‘’  
  
‘’No, no! It wasn’t on purpose!’’ She whispers, hurriedly but quietly as if afraid the others will hear them. ‘’You’re just thinking very loudly’’  
  
Dick feels the bile in his throat again, his heart beating so fast he feels it in his mouth; hears it in his ears. He knew he’d been slipping, but that even his mental barriers were wearing so thin, he hadn’t noticed.   
  
‘’I’m sorry!’’ M’gann waves her hand as his breathing becomes ragged, looking just about as frightened as he feels. ‘’I’m not hearing anything now! I swear! It’s just, it’s like you were leaking them to me, and –‘’ She bites her lip, looking at him pleadingly. ‘’I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I  _swear_ ’’  
  
‘’It’s fine’’ Dick says even though it’s absolutely far from it. ‘’I – I guess my –‘’  
  
‘’Your barriers used to be stronger’’ She nods. ‘’Not that I tried to break them! But, it’s just, even when others slipped a thought or two, you never did, you never used to, it’s – I’m sorry, I’m being nosy’’  
  
Dick tries not to let the bitterness in his mouth color his words. ‘’No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it’’  
  
M’gann grimaces. ‘’If you… I know it’s not my place, but, I mean if you  _want_ , I could help you try to strengthen them again. Or just meditate! A mind at peace is a happy mind, my sister used to say’’  
  
‘’Thanks, Miss M, but it’s fine, really’’  
  
She looks at him in timid disbelief. Because that’s all people seem to be able to do these days. Look and look for something they’re never going to find.  
  
‘’I think it could be good for you’’ She turns to the sky then, the blue reflected in her irises, her mouth pursed in thought. ‘’I mean, I understand if you don’t want to come back into everything all at once, that’d be a bit careless, but…’’ She bites her lip, frowning. ‘’I think it could be good if you’d just come and… I don’t know, hang out. Maybe spar with us.’’   
  
‘’I don’t think that’s a good idea, M’gann’’  
  
She looks at him again and her eyes seem sadder now. ‘’Why not?’’  
  
Dick shrugs.  
  
‘’I’m not really much fun to hang around these days’’  
  
‘’You’re fun now’’ 

He opens his mouth, but has no idea what to say. Her eyes remain on him, imploring and earnest, so earnest, whatever he wanted to say gets lost. Dick swallows heavily and looks away.

  
‘’I guess you caught me on a good day’’   
  
‘’Has it been? Good, I mean?’’  
  
Dick risks one short glance at her, just one little look out of the corner of his eye; the honesty is still there, that pure sincerity, her naïve will to see the good and the charm in anything. To hope when there is none. He’s missed that, he thinks. Not very consciously, but at the back of everything. It’s amazing how much you can forget when you’re busy feeling sorry for yourself, he thinks, not entirely bitterly.  
  
‘’It’s been great’’ he says and he thinks he really means it. ‘’I just don’t… think I’m ready. Yet’’  
  
M’gann looks sad, but she smiles like she understands. Like she’ll always try to, even when it seems hard. And he has no idea what he did to deserve it, but he relishes in it, now when it’s offered.  
  
‘’Well, when you  _are_  ready, I’ve just learned how to make an omelet, and you can spar some with Conner! He’s getting a lot better at controlling himself lately, and you should see the indoor cinema we added –‘’ She stops herself, a dark blush adding a curious tint to her cheeks. ‘’Sorry. It’s just… It’s so good to see you. I … I missed you. We  _all_  missed you.’’  
  
Dick has trouble swallowing for a good while, his throat so dry it hurts; all his muscles and joints seize up, click restlessly, before they finally release with a tired, long sigh.  
  
‘’I missed you too’’ he says. ‘’I know I don’t keep in touch but –‘’  
  
‘’No, no, don’t worry!’’ M’gann reaches out a hand but stops herself before it can reach him. Blushing even worse, she withdraws and holds it closely to her chest.  
  
Angry with himself, frustrated with his own uselessness, with his utter selfish neglect of people who’ve never really done anything but have his back, courses through his body and leaves him shuddering. Tired, and maybe just a little bit too bold than he ought to be, he reaches for her hand. Gently, he squeezes it.   
  
‘’Thanks’’ he says, and the open, awestruck look he gets is almost enough to push the bile out, but he swallows it down and ignores the way his voice doesn’t fully carry. ‘’Thank you’’  
  
M’gann smiles and he lets her hand go.


	28. Chapter 28

Ray’s Laser Tag Arena is hollow. Not just hollow for people, but hollow for, anything, really. The windows that haven’t been boarded up, have all been punched in. Graffiti lines the façade and the whole parking lot is littered with garbage. A slight crunch comes from under his shoe, causing Dick to look down at the needle he just stepped on.

He checks the business card for the fifth time, but the address remains unchanged. He is, indeed, at the right place. Though, perhaps, not at the right time.

‘’Real funny, Red’’ he half-heartedly shouts to the pigeons. ‘’Don’t wanna sound ungrateful but your gift leaves something to be desired!’’

Dick grinds the syringe into the ground with his boot. The crunch breaks through an otherwise eerie silence, only occasionally pierced by the faraway sound of trains.  It’s a desolate area away from the heart and eyes of the city, which doesn’t help the unease burning in his stomach. Private and destitute, it's the perfect place to dump a body.

He’s just about to turn and leave when he hears someone approach. Without even thinking, without breathing, Dick has taken a defensive stance, reaching for the weapons in his belt. He’s just about to panic, when a familiar voice calls from behind.

‘’Relax!’’ Roy has the decency to look annoyed, rather than pitying.  Still, his eyes are lacking their usual edge. ‘’It’s just me’’

Dick has to take a moment to catch his breath, wiping a few beads of sweat from his forehead as he tries to look composed.

‘’Jesus’’ His heart punches against his ribs, reverberating through his spine. ‘’Hello would’ve been just fine’’

 ‘’You got the token?’’

Dick gives him a confused look at first, before he remembers. Searching through his pocket, it doesn’t take long for him to find the tiny thing.

‘’Nice going, couldn’t have picked a place that was still in business?’’ Dick places it on the knuckle of his thumb and flips it through the air. Roy catches it without breaking eye contact.

‘’Come with me’’

He leaves without waiting for a response and Dick has to hurry to catch up. He’s not sure _why_ he’s following the older boy. Death wish, maybe. But while Dick is feeling on edge, he’s not getting any bad vibes from Roy. He’s acting strange, but not threatening. That, Dick supposes, has to count for something.

They round the building, treading over weeds and broken bottles, to end up at the back door. Upon noticing that it’s been padlocked shut, Dick snorts.

‘’Don’t suppose you got the keys for that’’

‘’We don’t need keys’’

‘’Roads?’’ Dick says mockingly. ‘’Where we’re going, we don’t need roads!’’

Roy pauses for a moment, staring at Dick in equal parts annoyance and surprise. After a few moments of silence, Dick starts to feel self-conscious. ‘’What?’’

‘’Nothing’’ Roy says, but keeps looking at him like he’s gone crazy.

An unsaid tension hangs between them and Dick knows Roy is thinking about that night, because _Dick_ is thinking about that night, and he also knows neither one of them wants to outright talk about it. It’s a well known fact that Roy is ridiculously bull headed and if he _wants_ to confront him about it, Dick will have absolutely no choice in the matter. Figuratively speaking, Roy’s got him backed up against a wall, but Dick still can’t find it in himself to leave.

Roy knocks on the door in a pre-determined rhythm. A keypad appears, hidden behind a small, secret hatch. He takes the token out of his pocket and places it inside an indentation, perfectly shaped to fit. After a green light scans his face the display lets out a quiet beep. Just like that, a doorway opens up in the ground.

Dick whistles. ‘’Okay, Indy, you’re not gonna lure me down there and kick my ass, are you?’’

Roy looks like he wouldn’t wholeheartedly mind. He walks over to the hole in the ground and in a swift, effortless move, hoists himself down. Dick hears the metallic sound of boots against ladder steps, and eventually Roy’s voice calls out from the pit, ringing as from inside a tin can.

‘’You coming or not?’’

Dick considers his options for a moment.

‘’This is crazy’’ he says, staring into the pitch black darkness. ‘’You’re crazy, Grayson’’

‘’Hell _o_?’’ Roy’s voice echoes from below.

‘’Calm down, princess, I’m coming!’’

Dick crawls down the hatch, taking care not to slip on the damp ladder. Inside smells like wet earth and old steel. A quiet dripping echoes through the walls and a shiver runs through his body. Roy turns on a flashlight and with the hit of a switch in the wall, the pit door closes. Weren’t it for his flashlight they would have been completely swallowed by darkness.

‘’Uh, Roy’’ Dick’s voice rises in pitch as he feels sweat start pooling down his neck, looking nervously around him.

‘’Hang on, hang on’’ Roy trips on something in the dark, swearing under his breath.

Dick tries to keep his own breathing even – deep in, two out, deep in, two out – and thinks he’s just about to lose it, when the lights finally come on.

Roy is standing over by a light switch, looking at him carefully. He pulls the hood off his head and steps forward, mouth open as if to say something, before thinking better of it. Waving for Dick to follow, he leads them both deep down the underground corridor.

Dick wants to ask where they’re going, but doesn’t. Feeling his shoulders tense, he grabs around his pockets for a weapon. He wasn’t stupid enough not to bring at least one smoke bomb. When he closes his hand around it, his palms are sweaty against the metal.

‘’Watch your step’’ Roy says as he leads him into a large, hangar looking room.

Naked light bulbs hang from the ceiling, casting a cold, blue light over them. The far wall is littered with targets, all punched full of holes from arrow heads. In the far corner is a boxing bag. To the left, a small collection of free weights. There’s even a treadmill.

Dick walks over to a training dummy and reaches out a hand to touch its face, letting out a low whistle.

‘’Damn, Red. You got your own little Arrow cave’’

‘’It’s not an _Arrow Cave_ ’’ Roy snarls. ‘’After I split from Ollie I needed somewhere to train. So. Here we are’’

Dick wanders around the room, poking every little ornament, ogling every little thing. Every picture, every instrument. He stops before a large glass case full of different types of bows and arrows. Through the reflection in the glass, he gives Roy a careful look.

‘’So what am I doing here? Trying to recruit me to be your new protégé?’’

Roy snorts. ‘’You couldn’t keep up with me’’

Dick turns around to look at him, body guarded and tense. Roy notices this, and unfolds his arms. Something softer falls on his face. ‘’I think we should spar’’

Dick frowns. ‘’ _Why_?’’

‘’I don’t think you’ve been doing too much of that lately’’

‘’If I remember correctly, you wanted me to spar less’’

‘’If you call beating the shit out of people sparring then, yeah, no, that’s not why we’re here’’

Roy walks over to a cabinet, takes out a pair of MMA gloves and casually tosses Dick a mouth guard.

‘’Don’t worry’’ he says. ‘’It’s not used’’

Dick grimaces. ‘’I have my own gym, you know’’

Roy takes his hoodie off and throws it over a nearby armchair. He pops in his own mouth guard and throws Dick the gloves.

‘’What the hell is this?’’ Dick’s forehead folds into a deep frown. He would be scared if he wasn’t so damn confused; Roy’s supposed to be pissed with him, is supposed to take him here to yell at him or even punch him again, not _train_ him. ‘’What’s all this Mr. Miyagi stuff?’’

Roy calmly wraps his hands. ‘’Just trust me, Dick’’

Dick searches his eyes for something that makes sense. Though Roy looks earnest, his intentions remain unreadable. ‘’Pick up the gloves, Dick’’

‘’What? No!’’

‘’Fine then’’ Roy gets into a fighting stance, but still keeps his distance. ‘’Suit your own damn self’’

He starts advancing on him, slowly, methodically, and Dick has all the time and space to run away but isn’t sure he should. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do, but Roy keeps coming closer, so he has to figure something out.

‘’Roy’’ Dick takes a half step back, raising his hands in front of him in some weak gesture of peace. ‘’Roy, I know you wanna kick my ass but –‘’

‘’Come on, Grayson’’ Roy is right upon him now, pulling his arm back to strike.

Dick blocks it easily. He doesn’t even need to think about it. The next punch flies past his head, but he ducks it in time. Roy’s holding back, his movements deliberately predictable. Dick gets over the initial shock if only to feel angry with him, which feels refreshing for a change. The next punch is blocked by his palm and this time he is quick to retaliate.

‘’That’s more like it’’ Roy says and ducks.

‘’ _Roy_ ’’ Dick warns, but Roy doesn’t listen.

He kicks, kicks again, kicks him over and over and each time Dick blocks him. Eventually, Roy starts getting more serious. Dick’s heart is beating fast, but not from fear – from adrenaline, from habit, long forgotten habit that he thought he had buried somewhere. Though his joints are stiff like un-oiled hinges, and his movements not as fluid as they used to, it comes back to him like a gentle flow of water.

Dick starts to hit back. Roy is in better shape than him now, is much faster and stronger, and it’s not entirely on purpose that he lands a hit that has Dick stumble backwards. A moment of cold, dreadful silence lays over them, as Roy stares at Dick in half shock, half anticipation. Dick wipes the blood off his nose and stares back. They say nothing.

Dick charges him. The fight gets faster, less coordinated, more instinctual. His punches are getting faster, harder, his kicks swift and near unpredictable. But Roy holds his own. Dick feels every beat of his blood, every breath a sharp pain when he draws in the damp, musty air.  His hair plasters to his skin and, for the first time in months, Dick feels alive.

It’s happening so fast now, both have trouble keeping up. Dick sweeps Roy off his feet with a low kick, and when Roy tries to grab him he makes a not so graceful flip away from him. Dick lands on his feet, wobbles a bit, but stabilizes. Roy gets back up and rushes at him with a shout. Even if he tried, Dick wouldn’t be able to block him and Roy tackles him to the ground.

All air is ripped right out of him and the ceiling above him spins. He smells the concrete underneath them, feels Roy’s weight on his body and in a fit of rage, wrestles the boy off. With his heart pounding violently, Dick grabs Roy’s throat and draws his hand back to strike.

Roy looks him straight in the eyes and doesn’t flinch. Dick’s breath is labored, heavy, his clenched fist trembling in the air. With a shudder, he lets it fall limply by his side.

Roy looks just a little bit too smug.

‘’There it is’’

‘’What the hell are you doing?’’ Dick gasps between his breaths, sweat dripping from his nose.

‘’Time to stop hiding, Robin’’

With violent force, Roy kicks him off.

Dick tumbles and rolls, winded and dizzy as he crawls to his feet. He barely has time to collect himself before Roy attacks him again. He rolls away just in time, looking for Roy’s eyes, searching for an answer. There is none.

Roy hits him again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘’What a way to say hello’’ Dick mumbles into the pack of frozen pizza rolls he’s holding against his face, inspecting himself in a spoon. ‘’Alfred’s going to _flip_ ’’ 

‘’Yeah, well, Dinah will kill me first’’ Roy snorts.

Dick just stares at him, at his bruised chin and broken nose. His black eye that mirrors his own. And, for no reason at all, Dick laughs.

Roy looks so surprised by the sound that he nearly drops his own pack of peas, flinching backwards just a bit. Dick covers his mouth, but can’t stop. It’s bubbling out of him, not sounding all the way okay but it’s not forced, either. A little sickly, maybe, like foul water from a well you’ll drink only because you’re so thirsty.

It dies down to a chuckle as Dick pulls a hand through his hair. He quiets down with a gentle cough.

Roy is looking at him with that look he’s come to see in everyone, that mix of feelings he doesn’t want to deal with, but knows will come at him anyway. Some things in life just do, regardless of whether or not you’re capable of coping with it.  Roy is giving him that look now but Dick is too tired to run away.

He focuses on the dull, hot pain thudding in his face. Every grimace he makes hurts and he pushes the frozen pack harder against his skin. It burns, but it’s a freeing feeling.

‘’I know what you’re gonna say’’ Dick says and puts the pack away.

‘’And?’’

Dick shrugs. ‘’I don’t know what you want _me_ to say.’’

‘’I don’t want you to say anything, I want you to _do_ something’’

‘’Do _what_?’’ Dick snaps.

‘’Don’t jump from buildings, for one’’

Dick groans and slides off the armchair. Like a cornered dog, he starts pacing around the room as Roy watches him with clenched fists.

‘’Fine, I’ll hang myself next time. Happy?’'

Dick has turned away from him so he can’t see the look on Roy’s distorted face, but he can feel the glare in his back, along with the hot, heavy anger bubbling between them. 

‘’Do you have any fucking idea what you put people through?’’ Roy throws the pack of peas down on the desk, his voice tight and cold.

‘’What _I_ put people through?’’ Dick turns around to stare at him, stomach hot with anger.

‘’Do you have _any_ idea what you’re doing to people that care about you?’’ Roy’s entire stance is aggressive and confrontational, but he still keeps the distance between them. ‘’Do you think it’s fun to watch you kill yourself?’’

‘’I didn’t mean for people to see me!‘’

‘’I’m not talking about the building!’’ Roy’s voice rises to a shout that echoes between the walls. ‘’I’m talking about you, hiding away all the time like a child! I’m talking about _you_  ignoring - ‘’

‘’Oh, shut up!’’ Dick screams back at him. He is so tired of having this argument every time. ‘’Who the hell made you resident psychiatrist? Why am I even  _here_? Just so you can beat the crap out of me? That your way of _helping_?’’

‘’Better than anything you’ve been doing!’’ Roy takes a step towards him, his chest rising and falling rapidly, veins twitching underneath bruised skin.

Dick opens his mouth but only stands gaping.

‘’Dick, I can’t pretend to know how you’re feeling, but I know that the only way when you feel like shit, when you feel utterly helpless, is to help yourself’’ He rubs at his eyes. ‘’Jesus Christ. Take control of your damn life! How long do you think crying about it in your room is going to work?’’

Dick can’t do anything but stare at him in stunned silence. Roy sighs, a deep and weary sigh of a man at the end of his wits.

‘’I…’’ Dick can’t quite meet his eyes.

‘’Stop hiding’’ Roy finds a towel draped over a chair and throws it at him. ‘’Start fighting. Remember when you used to stand for something?’’

Dick grabs the towel feebly and in a small, small voice, says, ‘’I don’t know how’’

‘’Yes, you _do_. I know you do’’

Dick looks down at his hands, bloodied and bruised, skin loose from his knuckles, staining the towel a dirty brown. He didn’t even notice the smell before.

‘’How do you even…’’ He twists it in his hands. The thick metallic stench of blood makes him feel ill. ‘’How can I… I don’t even understand what _happened_ ’’

His voice breaks and he hates it, he hates it, he tried so hard not to cry. It had almost been a day, if only he’d been a little stronger, just a few more hours, it would have been a whole day without tears.

‘’Hey’’ Roy walks towards him, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal, but Dick doesn’t feel safe at all. ‘’Calm down’’

‘’Leave me alone!’’ Dick pushes him, but Roy won’t back away.

‘’Listen to me’’ He regards him stubbornly, jaws clenching. ‘’It doesn't have to be like this’’

Dick shivers and for a moment thinks his knees are going to give out. He steadies himself on Roy, hands gripping onto his shirt. There is no more strength in his body, no more of the ire that had kept him going for so long. There is nothing left but an echoing, hollow ache. Roy touches him uncertainly, fingers barely grazing the fabric over his shoulders before Dick slaps his arms away.

‘’I don’t want your help’’ Dick snarls.

‘’Well, tough shit’’ Roy says, not entirely unkind. ‘’You’re getting it’’

Dick’s face has swollen, his eyes puffy and red from tears and broken vessels. Roy thinks he’s never going to hear the end of it when Bruce finds out.

‘’Enough is enough’’ he says. ‘’It’s time to deal with this crap’’

Dick takes a deep breath and swallows down the tears as much as he can. They’re pressing against his eyes, burning at the back of his throat, but Roy doesn’t seem to care.

‘’It happened’’ Roy says and instantly sees Dick’s muscles tense. ‘’It happened, it changed things and there’s no point pretending that it didn’t’’

Dick stands there gasping, trying to speak but with no words left, all he can do is breathe. A heavy weight has draped itself over his body, but at the same time he feels washed through by a cold wave of relief. It’s as if the world has simultaneously stopped moving and started spinning faster.

‘’No’’ he mumbles, shaking his head. ‘’No, no, you don’t know, you don’t _know_ ’’

‘’You think I give a shit about what happened?’’ Roy can’t help but snap at him. ‘’If they beat you, they cut you, tortured you, rape–‘’

‘’No!’’ Dick’s voice echoes so loudly in the room, he’s surprised such a large voice could come from him. ‘’ _No_!‘’ He stumbles on his own breath, grabbing onto the older boy’s collar in a hard, relentless grip. ‘’Shut up, Roy! _Shut up_!’’

‘’It doesn’t make a difference, you know’’

Dick glares at him with wild eyes, breaths pushing through his throat like claws. ‘’It does to me!’’

His eyes are hard and cold, but there is something brittle in the way he moves. Roy sucks a breath in through his teeth, feeling like any second now, the air will shatter. He thinks his options over carefully, before he tries to touch his shoulder again.

Dick stops him with a single dark look. ‘’ _Don’t_ ’’ 

‘’You’re the only one who thinks it matters’’

Though there is a small voice in his head telling him to be careful, he ignores it like he’s done so many times before. There is a stronger, more urgent pull within him, moving his hand as if on its own.

Dick grabs his wrist before the hand can even make contact. It had been a gentle gesture, he’s sure, but it might as well have been fire.

‘’Shut up, don’t – just _don’t_ ’’ He pleads in a low, clipped voice. Dick can feel veins pumping underneath his fingertips.

‘’You’ve been avoiding this for a year’’ Roy’s arm flexes under the grip. ‘’How much longer do you think you can keep this up?’’

‘’I told you to shut up!’’ Dick’s grip tightens around his wrist, aching with blood unable to push through, with the whine of bone pressed hard against skin. Roy doesn’t waver.

‘’Despite your best efforts, I’m still here. We’re all here, Dick, we _want_ to help you, but you have to stop running away’’

Dick’s breathing turns into short gasps. What started as a tremble in his shoulders now spreads all throughout his body.

‘’I know what they -‘’

Dick pushes him, hands against his chest so hard Roy almost falls over. He catches himself just in time, but a dull ache lingers in his ribs. Dick clenches his fists as if ready to fight again.

‘’You don’t know shit’’

Roy huffs. ‘’Whatever helps you sleep at night’’

Dick screams; a small but feral thing. Roy’s hands are up in anticipation of an attack before the other’s even made the leap. He barges into Roy shoulder first, and this time they do fall. Roy makes sure to land as safely as he can but still manages to knock his elbow, which sends a vibrating echo of pain through his nerves, all the way through his fingers. It’s almost too much for him to see the blow coming, but not quite.

He catches Dick’s fist, counters the next with his arm. The third one knocks his head back, and it takes a while before the room stops spinning. A fourth hit hovers in the air before it lands as nothing more but a soft, gentle fist against his chest. Dick curls into himself, hands clutching onto Roy’s shirt like he’ll float away, get sucked into an abyss and disappear.

He gasps for breaths but finds each one to be more suffocating. The room feels so impossibly narrow now, thousands of pounds of earth and concrete crowding around them. The smell of sweat and steel becomes nearly overwhelming, and Dick has never felt so small.

Roy wipes his lip, bleeding again, and leans his head down on the concrete and sighs. Dick doesn’t make a move to get off him, but neither does he seem to be in much of a fighting mood. Roy leaves him be, small and light on top of him.

‘’Don’t tell anyone’’ Dick says, voice hoarse. ‘’Please. Please don't - don't tell them‘’

‘’I won’t’’ Roy feels something wet soak through his shirt. ‘’But sooner or later you _will_ have to’’

Dick releases a long, weary breath. Roy reaches into his pocket and without taking his eyes off the other, holds the token in his palm.

‘’You can come here anytime you want’’ he says. ‘’Even if I’m not here’’

Dick stares hesitantly at the thing, small and worn with the imprint of a star. It must've been years since this place was open. How many hands had touched the coin over the years? How many machines had scraped at its surface, wearing down the metal until the text was no longer legibile, the shine almost gone? How many times had he used one just like it? It feels like a lifetime ago, as do most things now.

‘’Red…’’

‘’Yeah?’’

‘’How did you..?’’

Roy grimaces. ‘’You’re not exactly subtle’’

Dick tries to say something but even if he knew what, exactly what words to string together to make any difference, to make anything better, his throat has twisted itself into a painful knot. There is nothing to say, nothing that could make him feel better. He's so tired, it's hard to even muster up the energy to feel ashamed. Disgusting and consumed, maybe, but little else can manage to pierce through the thick nothing in his head.

‘’Look, you don’t have to tell me anything’’

He stares at his friend for a very long time. Hesitantly, Dick takes the token with a trembling hand.

‘’So'' Roy says after a while. ''You want a hug or can you get off me now?’’

Torn somewhere between amusement and despair, he settles for a scoff. Dick unsteadily gets to his feet and helps Roy do the same, both of them swaying lightly. Waddling over to the armchair where he had thrown his jacket, Roy gives him a cryptic look.

‘’Come on, boy wonder’’ He says. ‘’I’ll drive you home’’

‘’Sure you can drive?’’

Roy rolls his eyes. ‘’Kid, you’re not exactly heavyweight champion material’’

Dick watches him carefully, heart still racing but slowing down slightly. The tremor in his hands has subsided to a gentle tingle. He feels grimy and gross, his skin sticky with sweat and blood and dust and something else entirely. Something that has lingered inside his body, under his skin and in his lungs, a taste at the back of his throat he can never quite wash out.

Dick turns away, unable to meet Roy’s eyes. If the other notices, he doesn’t say anything about it. With heavy, dragging limbs, he slides the token into his pocket and the two leave in silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The ride to the mansion is quiet and uneventful. Tense, maybe, but not entirely uncomfortable. 

Bruce, unsurprisingly, completely flips out. Alfred is even worse, and Selina – who for some reason is over with cinnabuns – won’t stop teasing him about being in a fight club. Roy feels like he barely makes it out alive.

Bruce’s furious lecture lasts nearly half an hour. Dick thinks the only reason he isn’t screaming at him is because he doesn’t want Dick to break. He would be annoyed if he wasn’t so resigned to it by now. Everyone treats him like a glass figurine, regardless of how many times it’s been dropped and shattered. It’s not like things could get worse.

He doesn’t mind getting away from the lecture easy, anyway. Alfred doesn’t shut up about it, but Dick has learned to ignore him.

It’s not until he goes to bed that his body lets go. There has been a tension, like a breath held, and when he lays his head down on the pillow that tension finally breaks. His body starts shaking violently with dry sobs and heavy gasps for air. He’s not sure why he’s upset, or even _if_ he is.  He thinks Roy must have scratched something, a scab inside that won’t stop bleeding.

Dick cries himself to sleep, and when he sleeps his dreams are restless. They’re not nightmares, this time, but they’re not pleasant either. Unsettling messes of distorted shapes, faded colors and voices he can’t recognize beyond a subconscious level. Like an itch he can’t quite reach.

He wakes up in a cold sweat, muscles cramping, snot caked on his face and the tears still streaming hot and warm. He lies shaking like that until sunrise.

In the early hours of the morning, Dick finally drifts off to a quiet, empty sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘’How is the new medication?’’ 

‘’It's okay'’ Dick shrugs, pulling at a thread. ‘’Side effects went away’’

J’onn nods. ‘’Any results?’’

‘’I  get out of bed by myself now. Eating only takes an hour, which is an improvement’’ he shrugs again. ‘’It’s not like a miracle, but it takes the edge off’’

‘’Yes, it won’t reverse time, but a lot of people find it helps them manage their therapy better’’

Dick huffs. ‘’I guess’’

‘’And you gained weight, I heard?’’

‘’Alfred tell you?’’

J’onn smiles. ‘’He is quite proud of you. One pound, was it?’’

‘’One and a half’’

His smile widens. Dick pulls a little harder at the string.

‘’Alright. I think we can finish for today’’

‘’Yay’’ Dick says flatly. ‘’What’s the homework?’’

‘’I don’t know’’ J’onn admits. ‘’What do you think it should be?’’

Dick glances at the Martian, but his face is unreadable.  ‘’I guess…’’

He thinks about Wally. Thinks about the team, about all the things he’s missed, about M’gann’s updates and Billy’s snaps.  Most of all he thinks about Roy.

‘’I want to…’’ he bites his lip, frowning. ‘’M’gann invited me to the mountain’’

J’onn straightens up in his chair, suddenly intrigued. ‘’And did you accept?’’

‘’I don’t know’’ Dick shifts in his seat. ‘’I want to. I just… not sure I can… handle it’’

‘’It has been a long time since you slept away from home’’ J’onn says thoughtfully. ‘’You are afraid that you might have an episode in front of your friends?’’

‘’I…’’ Dick closes his mouth again, wringing his hands. He’s not quite sure what he’s afraid of. A lot of things, really.

‘’Or…’’ J’onn says very gently. ‘’Are you concerned about the bed wett—‘’

‘’ _Yeah_ ’’ Dick snaps. ‘’That… is _part_ of the reason’’

A wild blush spreads across his cheeks as he glares into the carpet. J’onn gives him a sympathetic look.

‘’How long since your last… incident?’’

Dick squirms. He feels hot, all of a sudden. ‘’A week’’

‘’That is good news, Dick. So I take it you are sleeping better?’’

‘’Not really’’ Dick shrugs. ‘’I don’t know. I guess I’ve been… less stressed lately. And I don’t drink before bed’’

‘’Good’’ J’onn writes something down in his book. Dick hates when he does that. ‘’Alright. What do you think is stopping you from going to see your friends?’’

‘’I just... Same old, I guess’’ He looks at J’onn. ‘’I don’t know. I just… I _want_ to, you know? I miss them. I really miss them, and I miss… myself, if that makes sense’’

‘’I think so’’ J’onn straightens in his chair. ‘’You miss who you used to be, when you were a team?’’

Dick swallows bitterness. ‘’Yeah… Yeah, something like that. I miss how things used to be, and, I don’t know… If I go back and things aren’t the same, things _won’t_ be the same –‘’

‘’And what is so bad about that?’’

Dick opens his mouth, but finds no words. He stares at J’onn who is open and earnest. Waves of soothing energy seem to flow from his body like sunlight cascading down a gentle creek.

‘’I don’t know’’ Dick says, and he feels like he means it. ‘’I don’t actually know’’

J’onn purses his lips.

‘’Well, then what is the harm in finding out?’’


	29. Chapter 29

‘’Are you _sure_ you have everything, master Dick?’’ Alfred looks at him with concern, reluctant to let the boy go while happy to see him stretch his legs. Well, he thinks, birds and nests and all that.

Dick rolls his eyes in a false show of bravado. ‘’It’s fine, Alfie, I got everything. Extra sheets’’ he counts on his fingers. ‘’extra PJs, socks –‘’

‘’Toothbrush?’’

‘’— _and_ floss’’ Dick half-smiles. ‘’Don’t worry, I’ve got this’’

Alfred chuckles. ‘’Very well then, master Dick. I wish you a pleasant weekend’’

‘’Bye, Alfie’’ Dick waves as the butler very reluctantly rolls the window back up, and stays staring after him long after the car has disappeared. Alfred keeps his eyes on the rearview mirror until the hill blocks them both from one another and it becomes time to let go.

Dick’s stomach is aflutter, his hands shaking, if only mildly. He swings the duffel bag over his shoulder and stares up at the mountain. It’s not as frightening as last time, which is a good thing, he thinks. He’s done this before, he can do it again. He has to.

‘’Here goes nothing’’ he says to himself and enters the transporter.

‘’ _Robin – B01’’_ the computerized voice says as if nothing’s changed at all.

‘’Robin!’’ It’s Raquel that greets him first, splayed on the couch with her feet on the table and a magazine in her lap. ‘’Woah, what happened to your lip?’’

Dick’s gaze flickers down to his shoes before he forces it back up. He pushes a smile onto his lips which is only a little bit shaky.

‘’Nothing special. Hey, uh, Rocket, was it?’’

‘’Call me Raquel, remember?’’ She puts the magazine away. ’’What’s up?’’

‘’Uh’’ Dick isn’t really sure of how to behave. He’s only met Rocket –  Raquel – once, and to be perfectly honest he can’t say his feelings about her or Zatanna have changed much. He knows he should be happy for his team. They seem like good people, good heroes, but he can’t fight the feeling that it should have been _him_ in their place.

But then again, he’s been busy hiding, and the only person he should really be resentful towards is himself. Still, it’s always easier to blame someone else.

‘’Is uh, anyone else here?’’ he says after a long, awkward silence.

‘’Yeah, they’re about’’ Raquel looks over her shoulder when they are both startled by a resounding crash.  She smirks at him. ‘’I think there are signs of life coming from the kitchen’’

‘’Robin!’’ M’gann shoots into the room like a bullet, only barely stopping herself from tackling him. Instead she settles for a respectful, but not too obvious, distance and gives him a smile that could power the sun. Whether on purpose or not, her mind radiates joy, which puts him somewhat at ease.

‘’Hey, miss M’’ his heart is still beating fast, startled by the noise. He takes a deep breath and manages to marginally calm down. ‘’Kitchen all in one piece?’’

‘’Oh, that’s nothing!’’ She waves dismissively and regards him with big, bright eyes. ‘’What happened to your lip?!’’

‘’It’s nothing’’

‘’It looks painful!’’ M’gann is barely restraining herself from taking a closer look. Dick can tell by the way her muscles twitch, how she bites her lip just slightly, fingers clenching and unclenching in an urge to touch.

‘’It’s mostly healed, don’t worry about it’’ Dick puts his duffel bag down. He hesitates for a moment, swallowing nervously. ‘’Anyway, don’t I get a hug?’’

M’gann just gapes at him at first. Eyes wide and bright, she doesn’t even answer before she throws her arms around him. Two more grow out of her torso to squeeze him to her chest and Dick, to his surprise, finds he doesn’t mind that much.

She lets him go before he has a chance to become too uncomfortable, maybe sensing his budding anxiety, maybe not. The extra arms retract into her body and when she puts him down her face is beaming.

‘’It’s good to see you again’’ Dick says quietly.

‘’Pff, it’s only been a month!’’ she says and he admires the way she makes it sound like no big deal.

‘’Yeah, well’’ Dick fidgets. ‘’My room still…?’’

M’gann does the impossible and smiles even wider.

‘’Just like you left it!’’

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Martian meditation isn’t too different from the Earth version. Just more levitation and stranger music, but he likes it. It’s soothing, to let go without losing control. He’s not giving up, just letting his thoughts be on their own for a while. Gently drifting away on an ocean wave. 

M’gann can’t stop talking once they’re done, telling him about everything that she hasn’t had a chance to tell him since last time, and it is ridiculous how much she’s missed him. It hurts to be missed, like that.

His room _is_ the same, contrary to what he thought. He makes a bitter remark about how he thought it’d been turned into a magic stage or something. M’gann isn’t sure how to respond but does her best to laugh it off.

Turns out everyone else is out; Wally with Barry, Zatanna with her dad, Aqualad doing ocean stuff, Artemis finishing up homework and Conner, a bit of a mystery. M’gann dodges any attempt at finding out, not always skillfully but persistently enough that Dick stops asking.

He doesn’t stop thinking, though.

It’s bothering him all through the day, even with the meditation, and he’s sure M’gann can sense it. She glances at him too often, when she thinks he isn’t looking. He catches her once, but she quickly looks away.

‘’M’gann’’ Dick says, hands still over the knife and lettuce. ‘’What are you hiding’’

Her green face goes a bright red and she suddenly becomes very interested in peeling potatoes.

‘’Miss M’’ he says, more urgently. ‘’I’m not an idiot, you know’’  
  
She makes a horrified face and finally turns to look at him. ‘’Of course not!’’

‘’So what are you hiding?’’ 

She blushes again, a heavy tension of guilt settling over the room. She wasn’t supposed to tell. She _promised_ , even though she didn’t necessarily agree but Robin’s caught her red handed and she _needs_ to tell him anyway, or she’ll explode. It doesn’t take her long to blurt it out.

‘’He’s out with Superman!’’

Dick blinks.

‘’Who?’’

M’gann gestures uncomfortably like she’s scared of something. Him making a scene, probably.

‘’They’ve – they’ve been spending time lately and it wasn’t my idea not to tell you but Superman thought you might not be happy if you knew and Conner was _so_ happy, he pretended he didn’t care but —’’ She rolls her eyes. ‘’Like hell _o_ , Conner! You don’t need to be a telepath to see he’s ecstatic and… uh…’’

She gives him a sheepish smile. Dick says nothing. Doesn’t know what to say. His hands feel cold as he grips the knife tightly, knuckles turning white. M’gann watches his trembling grip in concern but doesn’t move. Dick takes a deep breath through his nose and puts the knife down, but he can’t stop staring at it. It looks just like the knives they used to –

‘’Robin?’’ M’gann bites her lip. ‘’Are you mad at me?’’

Cut, cut, cut, cut away, strip away flesh and blood, so much blood. He can smell it even now.

‘’Robin?’’

He blinks.

‘’Hm?’’

M’gann gives him a worried look. ‘’I’m sorry I didn’t tell you’’

‘’It’s okay’’ he says, even though they both know it’s not.  
  
His stomach feels cold. But there is a certain resignation to his voice, and he can’t really say in the end that he’s surprised. Of course. Of course, of course, of _course_. Who wouldn’t choose Conner over him? Why would anyone choose him at all? Not Superman, not after what he saw. 

‘’I’m… I need to lie down. I’m not feeling too great’’

M’gann wants desperately to say something that will keep him, but by the time she finds the words, he’s already left.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘’Hey, sourpuss!’’ The knocks are rapid on his door. Dick pretends not to hear them, but it only makes Artemis more persistent. ‘’Quit sulking!’’ 

Dick has been staring at the wall for a good half hour, maybe even longer. M’gann tried reaching out to him through the mind link, but he quickly shut it down. It had surprised him to discover it was there, like a cold hand underneath warm covers startling him awake. After all this time, he’s almost forgotten what it feels like.

He feels guilty about it. It’s not M’gann’s fault. Isn’t Conner’s either, not even _Clark’s_. Dick was an idiot to think things were going to be the same. Too much has happened, too much has been. He’s a different person now and he should have known other things would change, too.

He’d just hoped Clark wouldn’t have.

He rubs at his eyes, refusing to cry now. He hasn’t cried today and he’s not about to start. He shakes his head, like thoughts were just cobwebs you could shake off. Artemis knocks again.

‘’Hey, pipsqueak! Open the door!’’

After another solid minute of ceaseless knocking, Dick takes the bait.

‘’ _What_?’’ he doesn’t mean to hiss, but does, anyway.

Artemis, what little he can see of her from the door crack, does not look the least bit impressed. Bored grey eyes watch him as she holds up a blu-ray case.

‘’You got time to take out of your brooding schedule to watch a movie?’’

Dick glares at her. Glares at the blu-ray. Back at her. He closes the door. A few moments of silence go by before she knocks again.

Dick sighs. ‘’Any chance you’re gonna let me wallow in self pity?’’

‘’Fat chance, circus boy!’’

He waits patiently but knows, somehow, he just _knows_ that Artemis is still outside waiting. On a good day he might’ve been able to outlast her, but it’s been a long time since he had one of those.

‘’Fine’’ he opens the door again, widely this time. ‘’But I get the good seat’’

Artemis gives him an unreadable glance which turns into a challenging smile.

‘’Deal’’ 

 

* * *

 

 

They order pizza this time and nobody minds. Dick is plopped up on the side of the couch with the best bounce, covered in pillows and only sort of sulking. He tries not to be an ass, really, he does, but he can’t fully help the bitter, sickening feeling lining his chest. It must be oozing off of him, as M’gann keeps her distance.

He feels like shit, but can’t muster the energy to do anything about it.

Artemis and Raquel are loudly critiquing the movie’s many flaws, mostly from a fighting standpoint but from a technical and explosives one, as well. M’gann says something about the lead actor’s butt, Artemis agrees. The movie ends.

It’s still early evening and no one feels much like doing anything at all, so they put in another movie.

Dick nearly dozes off a few times, but jolts awake just as soon. Nobody comments on it, though Artemis won’t stop giving him worried looks. He makes a half-hearted comment about the film, and the night continues.

Bit by bit, the tension between them lifts. Melts away like spring frost, and by the end of the second movie, Dick actually feels somewhat relaxed.

‘’Hey, Robin’’ Artemis says then, a hint of deviousness in her voice. Dick turns his head to meet her eyes.

‘’Hm?’’

Artemis just barely, barely restrains her grin. ‘’Heard you beat the shit out of Roy’’

‘’What?!’’ M’gann sits up straight in the couch and even Raquel has turned to look at him. ‘’So that’s what happened to your face!’’

Dick pulls a pillow over his face and groans.

‘’We were just sparring’’

‘’Why? Are you…’’ M’gann’s eyes go wide. ‘’You’re back to working?’’

The hopefulness in her voice makes him wince. He is painfully aware of the three sets of eyes locked on him now.

‘’Batman says I have to gain weight’’

‘’You _do_ look really skinny’’ Raquel frowns, somewhat to M’gann’s horror. Dick takes it in stride.

‘’Yeah, I get that a lot’’

‘’Why don’t you come here and spar then?’’ M’gann is bouncing slightly in her seat, smile growing to match. ‘’It’d be amazing to have you here again!’’

Dick huffs. ‘’Thanks, M’gann, but I better not’’

She tries to hide her disappointment but isn’t very good at it.

‘’Why not?’’

‘’Yeah, why not?’’ Raquel sits up to look at him now, and Dick really wants to shout at her. He bites his teeth down hard to keep himself calm.

‘’I just don’t think it’s a good idea’’ He can’t quite help but snap at them, cheeks flushing hot with anger.What it was with people always having to question him, order him, tell him what to do, it was ridiculous. It was bad enough before, but now, it was even worse. It was suffocating.

M’gann gives him an empathetic look that Dick hates. Artemis watches him quietly while stretching for the remote.

‘’Well, it’s an open invitation’’ Raquel says, giving him a strange look.

‘’Yeah’’ M’gann looks at her hands, dejectedly. Dick tries not to feel bad about it.

‘’Alright, what’s next, Die Hard II or --’’ Artemis tries to change the subject, but is interrupted by the sound of the teleporter being activated. M’gann instantly perks up and gets to her feet.

‘’They’re here!’’

‘’ _Aqualad – B02, Kid Flash – B03_ ’’

Dick sits up at the mention of his friends’ names, and soon sees them meet M’gann’s welcoming hugs. Aqualad is dressed in a stylish black tracksuit with teal details running down its sides, looking rested for a change.

‘’Hey, Kal’’ he greets. ‘’Nice digs’’

Kaldur looks at him. ‘’Digs?’’

‘’The suit, man. Very… casual’’

Kaldur frowns. ‘’Is there something wrong with it?’’

‘’No, Kal, you are the prettiest bell at the ball’’ Wally shoves him playfully, and Kaldur gives him an uncertain smile. He is not entirely sure what’s going on, but decides to ignore it. His face visibly relaxes when he looks at Dick again.

‘’It is good to see you, old friend’’

‘’Good to see you too, buddy’’ Dick gives him a weak smile.  A look of concern dons Kaldur’s face as he gets closer. ‘’Robin, what happened to your face?’’

‘’Oh, Rob’s a real Balboa now’’ Wally laughs. ‘’He had a fight with Red Arrow’’

Kaldur’s mouth is agape.

‘’What fight?’’

‘’It wasn’t a fight’’ Dick groans. ‘’We were just _sparring_ ’’

Kaldur looks even more concerned after hearing that.

‘’Just’’ Dick waves his hand dismissively. ‘’It’s not important. It’s nearly healed, Red’s fine, it’s all peachy’’

Kaldur doesn’t look fully convinced, but decides not to press the matter further. He doesn’t want to try his luck so early into the night.

‘’Aw, man, you had all the pizza?’’ Wally plops himself down on the couch, making the cushions bounce, and the girls with them. Artemis pushes him roughly to the side. ‘’Hey!’’

‘’Just order some, you glutton’’

‘’Uh, hello, speedster? High metabolism?’’

Artemis rolls her eyes. ‘’What _ever_ ’’

‘’Oh my god’’ Raquel sighs under her breath. ‘’I will _not_ sit through this argument again’’

‘’Hey, who’s arguing?’’ Wally winks at Artemis, who shoves him again. Wally just leans back laughing, catching Dick’s eye. His smile is infectious and soon enough, Dick finds it too difficult to fight.

‘’Yo’’ Wally winks at him too and Dick’s breath hitches.

‘’Yo’’ he says, bewildered.

Wally holds his gaze for a moment longer, causing a slow and gentle burn at the pit of Dick’s stomach. He is the first to tear his eyes away, staring very intently at the blank screen, fidgeting with his glasses.

Raquel’s phone makes a little noise and she is quick to fish it out of her pocket.

‘’Oh, uh, guys, Zatanna said she’s busy with magic… stuff’’ She says, quickly typing a reply. ‘’She won’t make it tonight’’

‘’Bummer’’ Dick mumbles under his breath. If anyone hears him, they ignore him.

‘’What magic stuff?’’ Wally is now upside down, trying to steal the last slice of pizza from Artemis’ hand. She punches him in the arm. ‘’Ow!’’

‘’I don’t know, interdimensional stuff. Boring’’ Raquel tosses her phone back into her slacks. ‘’Don’t worry about it’’

‘’And Conner?’’ Kaldur looks at M’gann, who glances nervously at Dick.

‘’Uhm. I’m not… sure. I think he’ll be … away, tonight’’ Every word out of her mouth is lower than the next, until she becomes nearly inaudible. Kaldur gives her a strange look.

‘’Alright…’’

A tense silence falls. M’gann decides she has to be the one to break it. Smiling, she abruptly stands up. ‘’Who wants dessert?’’

‘’Dessert!’’ Wally shouts triumphantly, pumping his fist in the air.

M’gann disappears into the kitchen in an instant. Artemis finally manages to push Wally off the couch, and makes a show of eating the pizza in front of him. Kaldur considers defusing the quarrel, but decides he’s had enough trouble for one day. Besides, he has a headache.

‘’I’ll… see if M’gann needs any help’’

Wally makes kissing noises after him as he leaves. Kaldur ignores him with a sort of grace and skill that only comes with practice.

‘’So, Rob’’ Wally transports himself to Dick’s side of the couch and drapes himself over the backrest. ‘’Miss me?’’

Dick snorts. ‘’Like an appendix’’

‘’Aww, that’s the spirit!’’ Wally snatches one of his pillows. Dick tries to take it back, but can’t manage to reach from inside his nest.

‘’Give that back!

‘’Oh, what, this, you want this?’’ Wally holds it tauntingly in the air. ‘’Say please!’’

Dick throws another pillow in his face.

‘’Dude!’’

Artemis doesn’t even try not to laugh. Her body curls up, vibrating with the sound, loud and mildly sinister. Wally throws both pillows at her.

‘’Hey!’’

‘’Dish it, you take it!’’

‘’You’re dead, Wally!’’

Artemis starts to rage something like a war, fought only with pillows. Wally mockingly speeds around her, always evading her hits. She hits harder each time, but behind her irritated glare, there is a hint of a smile. Wally stops just for a second to stick his tongue at her, and a second is all she needs to hit him square in the face. Wally topples backwards, falling over the couch and landing upside down on the floor.

‘’Wally, you okay?’’ Dick is quick to sit up.

Wally lets out a tickling laugh. Dick and Artemis share a brief, hesitant look, before she joins in the laughter as well.

‘’You idiot’’ She throws the pillow at him through a snort. Wally grabs it easily and places it under his head.

Dick makes a show of rolling his eyes, but it’s with a small smile that he sinks back into the couch. Their light and airy laughs feel good to hear, and a bit of the resentment from earlier starts to shrink away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘’So he just lured you to his hole in the ground and started throwing punches?’’

‘’Pretty much’’

Wally snorts. ‘’Man, that guy’s got issues’’

Dick huffs, looking at his hands. ‘’Roy’s a good guy’’

‘’I guess’’ Wally turns his head. ‘’But he hasn’t got the greatest bedside manner’’

Dick snorts. ‘’You can say that again’’

The wind gently rustles their hair where they sit. The night is stretched out deep and dark around them, but not in an imposing way. Wally sips his hot chocolate, steam rising from his mug as they both sit bundled in thick jackets and blankets under an open sky.

‘’So… how have you been?’’

‘’Fine’’

‘’Rob’’ Wally’s voice is weary. ‘’People that are fine don’t try to commit suicide’’

He pauses for a moment. ‘’I guess’’

Dick can feel Wally’s gaze on him, trying to read him, trying and failing to make any kind of sense. It’s almost enough to feel sorry for him; Wally tries so hard, always has. Always does. It’s truly the case of an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object and part of him wants to feel bad, but honestly, Wally’s kind of an idiot for trying so hard.

‘’Why did you do it?’’

The question is as sudden as it is bold and at first he’s too surprised to say anything.

‘’I don’t know’’ he says after a moment, staring into the night.

‘’You don’t _know_?’’

‘’No one’s ever asked me that before’’ Dick briefly looks at his hands. They’re lightly, but noticeably, shaking. Squirming inside his blanket, he wonders if they’ll ever stop. ‘’I don’t know, it just… felt like the right thing to do’’

‘’The right thing to do?’’

‘’Well… Like the _only_ thing to do’’

Wally lets out a long, harsh breath through his nose and looks away. Far away there’s the dim lights of Happy Harbor, and Wally wonders if anyone else is doing what they’re doing right now. If anyone else has to have these absurd conversations, trying to fix something that, most of the time, feels unsalvageable. Probably not, which he supposes is a good thing. A lonely thing, but good.

‘’That’s not true’’ Wally says eventually.

‘’Wally –‘’

‘’Nah, forget it’’ Wally shakes his head. He doesn’t sound angry, not even upset. Just quietly resigned. ‘’I’m not gonna keep nagging you or shout at you. What’s the point, anyway? You never listen’’

Their eyes meet as if magnetically drawn. Dick’s stomach ties itself into a knot as he studies Wally’s face. His eyes are sad but more than that, he looks tired.

‘’Don’t get me wrong’’ Wally says. ‘’I’m here, man, I’ll _always_ be here. There is _nothing_ I won’t do to help you, but until you want it, there’s not really much I can do’’

‘’It’s not that’’ Dick argues, but not with much conviction. ‘’I do want help. I… honestly, I wish –‘’

‘’Then act like it, dude! Man!’’ Wally rubs at his face, his body visibly tensing.

Dick shrinks back with a feeling of guilt, unable to think of anything to say. He studies Wally warily, wrings his hands but finds little relief. All he knows is that he feels desperate, to mend, to soothe, but it is painfully clear that he can’t lie to Wally anymore.

‘’Hey’’ Dick says quietly. Wally glances at him. ‘’I’m…’’

‘’You’re..?’’

Dick sighs. He turns his head to look up at the stars, search for constellations that he knows, but the light pollution obscures them. Far ahead a plane flies by, nearly the only thing blinking through the dark.

‘’I just wanted it to stop’’ Dick says and takes a deep breath.

Wally just watches him intently. There’s nothing left to feel but frustration, and even that is running thin. He’s getting so used to this now, so used to being upset about things that he can’t change. Like getting angry at a car that won’t run but that the owner refuses to take to the shop. It’s just pointless self-indulgence, in the end.

‘’That’s what therapy’s for’’

‘’That’s the _point_ ’’ Dick instantly regrets snapping at him. His voice is softer when he speaks again. ‘’Therapy, or whatever, won’t make it go away. It might… might make it better, or, bearable, but it won’t make it _stop_. I just wanted it to stop’’

He looks Wally in the eyes. ‘’I couldn’t fight it anymore’’

Wally looks back at him fondly.

‘’Then don’t’’

Dick opens his mouth, but closes it again.  A frown crawls across his face and Wally thinks his eyes always held that look, a look that made him seem so old sometimes.

‘’I get that it sucks’’ Wally says and scoots a little closer. ‘’But you gotta stop thinking about it like something apocalyptic’’

‘’What do you mean?’’

‘’It might be the worst thing that ever’s happened to you, but it’s _just_ torture’’ Wally holds a hand up when he sees the horrifyingly offended look on Dick’s face. ‘’What I _mean_ is, what’s so bad about people knowing what happened?’’

‘’I…’’ Dick bites his lip. ‘’I don’t know how to explain it’'  
  
Wally gives him a pointed look. ‘’Well, maybe if you can’t explain it, it might be because it doesn’t actually make any sense?’’ 

Dick huffs.

‘’I don’t get why I have to talk about it anyway. It happened’’

‘’Yeah’’

‘’It’s not like it’s _un_ happening if I speak about it’’

‘’It’s not unhappening by _not_ speaking about it’’

Dick casts him a sideway glare. Wally puts his hands up and shrugs.

‘’I dunno man, it’s your life. I’m just saying’’

Wally takes a sip of his hot chocolate, which has gone cold by now, but he doesn’t mind too much. Chocolate is chocolate. He offers some to Dick, who declines with a shake of his head. They don’t speak for a long time. Just watch the clouds drift idly by, blocking out the moon on occasion, only to glide away and reveal a brilliant, cold, blue light. Dick thinks about their first mission together as a team, at Cadmus, and his chest aches with nostalgia.

‘’I’m lost’’ His quiet voice breaks the silence. ‘’I’ve never been this… directionless, before’’

Wally says nothing, doesn’t even breathe, just in case it’d blow the moment away.

‘’Even after my parents died, I…’’ Dick’s throat suddenly feels dry. He swallows but it only makes things worse. ‘’I was scared, I mean, I was a kid, I was _nine_ and I had no one and I was losing my home but… this?’’ He shakes his head. ‘’This is different’’

Wally scoots just a little bit closer.

‘’I don’t know what to do, you know? So I just do what’s easy’’

‘’Bottling it up?’’ Wally gives him a pointed look. Dick narrows his eyes.

‘’Yeah’’ His face softens. ‘’Yeah, exactly’’

‘’What are you so scared of?’’

Dick looks at him like he’s an idiot. ‘’What am I _scared_ of?’’

‘’What’s so bad you can’t tell me? I mean, it’s me!’’ Wally points at himself. ‘’You always tell me everything’’

Dick sighs, trying to think of something to say but Wally isn’t quite done talking.

‘’And, like, why don’t you want me to touch you?’’ Wally holds onto his gaze when he notices Dick trying to look away. ‘’I mean, not just with me, but anyone. You’ve always been a real cuddle bunny but now it’s like you’re allergic to people’’

Wally looks at him like he’s waiting for something obvious, some sort of revelation that should have been regaled to him already. Like Dick should _know_ these things. Dick hesitates, considers just leaving but Wally’s there and looking at him in that way, that urging, honest, gentle way that always makes him confess to everything.

‘’Every time…’’ Dick swallows with great effort. ’’It’s not… you, specifically –‘’

‘’It’s not me, it’s you?’’ Wally says in a joking tone, but Dick doesn’t laugh.

‘’Yeah, yeah, exactly’’ he nods. ‘’It _is_ me. Every time someone touches me I just… go back. In my head, I mean, it’s like I’m there again and I can feel _everything_ ’’

He watches Dick’s hands fist the blanket in a tight grip, his eyes staring through him, no longer seeing. Lost somewhere far away in his head again.

‘’I just…’’ Dick sighs. ‘’I just feel messed up, you know? And – and I don’t want to mess you up, too’’

‘’Dude’’ Wally leans closer to him, forcing their eyes to meet. ‘’What the hell are you talking about? Mess _me_ up? _Moi_?’’ He puts a dramatic hand on his chest. ‘’Boy wonder, you couldn’t mess me up if you _tried_ ’’

Dick’s face struggles to settle between a frown and a smile, creating an unnerving grimace.

Wally regards him, the wind tugging gently at black hair, and thinks Dick really needs a haircut. Face still dappled with light bruises, scabs perch messily across his skin. He thinks about all the stupid things they’ve done together, and all the stupid things yet to come.

‘’Dick’’ Wally says and his heart jumps a little when their eyes meet again.

‘’What?’’

Wally opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. Nothing. His chest burns in a strange but not unfamiliar way, but there is no way to put that feeling into words. There is no way he can translate what he _wants_. Wally doesn’t even know what he wants.

Dick gives him a questioning look. ‘’Why are you blushing?’’

Wally shoves him gently. ‘’Am not!’’

Dick shoves back. ‘’Are too’’

Wally ruffles his own hair, skin starting to match the ginger strands. He stares down at his feet where they poke out through the blanket.

‘’Maybe you should practice’’ He blurts out.

‘’Practice?’’ Dick gives him a strange look.

‘’I mean, not with _me,_ necessarily’’ Wally thinks he might be halfway rambling, but can’t quite stop himself. His heart is beating faster by the second and he thinks the blush might soon eat through his face. ‘’With anybody. You know, touching, I mean, like handshakes or – or hugs’’

He stares at Dick for a second before his blush becomes much too crimson, much too hot, and he forces his eyes away. Mumbling, under his breath ‘’I don’t know, just an idea’’

Dick makes a small sound that sort of reminds him of a chuckle. They sit in silence, but a comfortable one, despite this Wally still feels sweat crawl down his back. His cheeks burn hotter and he finds it hard to stop fidgeting.

Dick, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically relaxed.

‘’Manhunter thinks I should practice too’’ he says, just a little bit of amusement to his voice. Wally’s eyes are large.

‘’Yeah?’’

‘’Yeah’’ Dick snorts. ‘’I don’t know, might be a good idea at this point’’

 ‘’Might be’’

Dick looks at him. There is something unreadable in his eyes, but it’s nonthreatening, almost gentle.

‘’Hey, Twinkletoes’’

 ‘’What?’’

Dick cracks a smile that creeps up to his eyes, where it warms the blue like embers. It makes him almost look like a different person. Older, and younger, at the same time. He looks so different now, Wally thinks, in ways both bad and good.

Dick holds up his fist and Wally regards it like the holy grail has just appeared to him.

‘’Best pals?’’

Wally might bump his fist a bit too enthusiastically.

‘’Best pals!’’ He says without hesitation. ‘’Always’’

Dick smirks. ‘’Always’’

He turns back to look at the stars, and Wally watches them reflect in the glasses he’s got perched up on his head. He takes them off and rubs at the back of his head, the smile fading but his eyes remain warm and light.

Wally hesitates. ‘’I’ve never been so scared in my life, man. Seeing you up there, I mean’’

‘’Wally…’’

He shakes his head. ‘’You don’t get it, dude. You have _so_ many people that care about you’’

Dick grimaces.

‘’I’d hate to imagine the world without Robin’’ Wally says, voice strong with conviction. ‘’It would _suck_ ’’

The two don’t say a word when Dick moves closer, searching for Wally’s warmth. Neither questions it when he puts his head on his friend’s shoulder. An unsaid tension releases from Dick’s body, while Wally’s heart feels twice as large.

‘’What are you doing?’’

Dick shrugs.

‘’Practicing’’

‘’Okay’’

Wally sips his chocolate. The night lies vast around them and Dick thinks, despite everything, things could be a lot worse.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw tiny flashback also sorry for the delay, jobs suck and flu sucks

Dick jolts out of bed in the morning fast as lightning. He pats the bed down, frantically, and almost wants to shout when he finds it dry. He makes a little victory punch, then immediately feels self conscious about it, despite being alone.

He’s been smart, hasn’t had any drinks for two hours before bed, but other than that, he’s also slept quite alright. He’s had nightmares, but they felt different this time, sort of filtered and far away. He was a spectator to his horror, not a participant, and it seems that makes all the difference.

Filled with unfamiliar energy, Dick feels like he’s just conquered the world.

He climbs into jeans and a t-shirt, half-heartedly brushes his hair with his fingers and puts the glasses on his face. It’s annoying to constantly see everything through them, but he thinks he’s getting used to it. It’d be easier to wear his mask, but it feels strange without the uniform and, well, Dick doesn’t think he’s ready for that just yet. 

It probably wouldn’t even fit him now.

He gets out of his room quietly, it’s still early in the morning, a habit he could never kick no matter how late he stayed up. Dick’s always up come sunrise, and that was as useful as it was annoying.

Since he was rescued, he’s not really put his time to good use, and it only means more hours to spend with his thoughts.

He wanders into the kitchen, which is empty. A faint burn mark above the stove worries him slightly, but he decides to leave it be. The place hasn’t changed much, despite all this time. Some furniture’s been moved around and there’s another armchair in the lounge, but, other than that, it’s almost exactly like he left it.

It’s a dull, gnawing pain of longing that spreads slowly through him. Dick really hadn’t tried to think about it, but he’s missed this place. Missed the smell, the sounds, the _people_. There are so many memories here that he wants to hold on to.

‘’Morning’’  
  
Artemis speaks gently, but she still manages to startle him. ‘’Oh! Uh, morning’’ 

‘’Coffee?’’ She walks over to a thermos on the counter and holds it up to him. ‘’I made it just a while ago’’

Dick grimaces. ‘’Gross’’

‘’You’re such a baby’’ Artemis says, not entirely unkind.

He studies her back as she turns it to him. Her hair looks freshly trimmed, strong and healthy. She’s got a big silk robe on with beautiful hand embroidered patterns. He notices with some amusement that it’s the same shade of green as her uniform.

‘’It’s good to have you back’’ she says and drops two pieces of sugar into her cup.

Dick makes a face that’s hard to read.

‘’It’s good to be back’’

She turns to look at him, pointedly. ‘’Yeah?’’

‘’Yeah’’ Dick nods. ‘’I mean it’’

The corner of her mouth twitches in the shadow of a smile.

‘’So what did you and Kid Mouth get up to on the roof?’’

‘’What do you mean?’’ Dick thinks he might have sounded a bit defensive.

‘’Nothing, just romantic, is all’’ She shrugs. Upon seeing him blush her smile turns evil. Dick just huffs and looks away.

‘’I’m just teasing’’ Artemis snorts and takes a sip of coffee. ‘’He’s talked about you constantly’’

‘’Like what?’’

‘’Oh, you know, Robin this, stubborn that, when’s he coming over, that kind of crap’’

Dick spreads his hands out to his sides.

‘’I’m irresistible’’

‘’Oh, shut up’’

He’s about to say something smart, when M’gann’s yawn draws their attention to the doorway. She’s in a pink, fuzzy bathrobe, hair tied into a loose braid.

‘’Morning everyone!’’

‘’Morning, Miss M’’ Dick tries not to sound too bitter and gives her a wave.

‘’Morning, Megan’’ Artemis raises her mug in salute. ‘’Sleep okay?’’

‘’Yeah’’ she says, though a bit dejectedly. ‘’Just not used to sleeping alone now, I guess’’

An awkward tension spreads nearly immediately between them and Artemis hurries to break the silence.

‘’So! Uh! Where’s Kaldur?’’

‘’He’s just on a morning run, should be back soon’’

‘’Okay’’ Artemis says. The silence falls again, heavier this time.

M’gann moves nervously through the kitchen, mouth twitching into an awkward smile. ‘’Who wants breakfast?’’ She says, more loudly than she had intended.

‘’What breakfast?’’ Wally appears behind her as if conjured there. ‘’You got waffles?’’

‘’Uhm’’ M’gann says with a look of confusion. ‘’There should be some eggos?’’

Wally’s off in a blur, whirling through the kitchen before anyone has a word in. In just a few seconds he’s got the table set and ready, adding the nice touch of a single, lonely flower. Artemis drains her cup and, within a blink, it’s been mysteriously refilled. M’gann finds herself pushed down on a chair and seated at the table, a glass of juice being poured as if by a ghost.

Wally finally slows down just so he can take the eggos from the toaster.

‘’Alright, dig in!’’ He says and proceeds to drown his plate in syrup before anyone has had a chance to realize what’s happened.

‘’You are disgusting’’ Artemis wrinkles her nose.

‘’Disgustingly _handsome_ ’’

‘’Don’t speak with your mouth full!’’

Dick snorts. ‘’Then he wouldn’t speak at all’’

Artemis points at him. ‘’Exactly’’

‘’Hey!’’ Wally protests, mouth still full, but is effortlessly ignored.

Dick makes a small smile. He regards his breakfast for a moment, his stomach twisting into knots at the smell. Despite the thick, sickening feeling growing in his gut, he takes a deep breath and starts eating.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He’s hesitant, at first. Kaldur ensures him that he won’t let him lose control. Dick can tell that he’s nervous too; Kaldur tries to hide it but can’t completely keep the worry from peeking through. It’s alright, Dick doesn’t blame him. 

It’s obvious that Kaldur is holding back when they fight. Dick remembers his fighting style, his moves and his speed and with all this time off, he should only have gotten stronger, faster. But instead he’s slower than usual. Careful and methodical, every move is easy to predict and counter.

Dick doesn’t show him the same courtesy, and after one too many near misses, Kaldur decides to finally put some effort into it.

It’s exhilarating to be back at it again. Dick was afraid he’d have forgotten it all, but the moves are engraved in his marrow. He remembers, and when he forgets, his body doesn’t. He is much weaker and tires much faster, but the foundation is still there.

That must count for something.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘’Well done, Robin’’ Kaldur wipes the sweat off his neck with a towel, as Dick takes a swig of water.

‘’You’re getting good’’ Dick teases him. His bones are aching, his muscles pumped full with lactic acid and there’s not an inch of him that doesn’t hurt. It’s a good pain, though.

Kaldur regards him for a moment, the smile on his lips gradually fading.

‘’It really pains me not to have you here, Robin. Believe me, it was not an easy decision to…’’

‘’Suspend me?’’ Kaldur shrinks a bit. ‘’Don’t sweat it, Gillhead, you did what you thought was best’’

Dick thinks he finally, actually means it.

‘’You don’t feel ill will towards me?’’ Kaldur looks cautiously optimistic.

‘’I did’’ Dick half shrugs. ‘’But I know you would never do anything to the team if you didn’t think that it was for the best’’

Dick still feels the hurt, feels the betrayal of no longer being trusted with what he does best. That his own team doesn’t consider him capable, but where he’d before been angry with them, had blamed them for wanting to get rid of him; Dick is starting to wonder if maybe, maybe they might have had a point.

‘’I haven’t been myself lately’’

Kaldur moves to put a hand on his shoulder but catches himself in time. His hand returns to hang limply by his side. ‘’Whoever you’ve been, you have been missed’’

Dick doesn’t know what to say. Deep in his gut, there is an ache so strong it makes it hard to breathe.  He takes another sip of water if only to distract himself.

‘’I have no doubt in my mind that you will return’’ Kaldur offers a somber smile. ‘’That is, if you wish to’’

Dick stares at the bottle, at the shape of his hand distorted through the water. Condensation drips down the plastic, staining his skin. He looks up at Kaldur again.

‘’I’ve… ‘’ He bites his lip. _More than anything_ , is what he wants to say. But he doesn’t. He says nothing. Despite this, Kaldur seems to understand.

‘’It’s okay to be afraid, Robin’’ Kaldur’s eyes are open and kind, cool like an ocean just after a storm has passed. ‘’It would be reasonable for the thought of returning, not only to us but to your own duties… It’s not so strange that it should seem daunting’’

Robin’s always been the one thing in his life keeping him sane. Dick misses it, misses it so much that it hurts. He has felt the loss deeply, as if something integral, like a limb, has been torn from him. But so much time has gone by now he’s started to get used to it. Not cope, really, but get by. How can he go back to the real world after all of that? Go back to the responsibilities, to the pain and the relentlessness of everything? It would be like starting all over again, like a child learning to walk.

How could he be Robin anyway, after what he’s been through? The person he is isn’t fit to wear the insignia, has no right to call himself a hero. The person he’s become can’t save anyone. It’d be a mockery to pretend like he could.

Worst of all is the feeling that it shouldn’t be like this. The feeling that they’ve taken everything away from him. Broken him down, ground him into a fine dust and scattered him like dirt.

They clawed and cut and took and dug a hole in his chest the size of the world.

‘’I know terrible things happened when you wore that suit’’ Kaldur won’t let their gazes waver. ‘’But… there were good things, as well’’

Dick’s fists are trembling.   
  
‘’People always say that Batman needs Robin but I think…’’ Kaldur hesitates. ‘’I think you need Robin too’’

Dick bites his lip down hard enough that he thinks he might break it. He doesn’t, but the pain keeps him from crying. It is a small comfort.

‘’It’s only reasonable for you to need time, but you are not completely lost, Robin’’

Dick finally tears his eyes away. He hides his fists in his pockets and says nothing. A loud ringing noise grows inside his head until he starts to feel dizzy.

‘’Rest assured, my friend’’ Kaldur says. ‘’When you find your way, there will always be a home for you, here’’

 

* * *

 

 

He hadn’t intended to, but he decides to stay an extra night. Staying at the mountain proves to be somewhat relaxing and since he already packed twice the clothes – just in case of an incident – he’s more than well prepared.

Even hanging out with Zatanna and Raquel hasn’t been so bad and it turns out, once you get to know them, they’re really not that horrible. They move around him as some ancient legend, a creature from myth they’ve heard _so_ much about. They ask him lots of questions about the team, ask him for tips, say the others really seem to look up to him.

Somehow that just makes him feel worse.

He spars some more with Kaldur and meditates with M’gann and things almost start to feel normal. He doesn’t feel brave enough to share a room with Wally yet, even if his sheets have been dry the entire weekend, it would be just his luck to piss himself when Wally’s in the room.

Not that Wally would mind, Wally never minds anything, but it’s the principle, really.

Artemis needs some help with math again and, to his own surprise, he’s happy to. It’s soothing, getting lost in the rather simple complexities of mathematical problems. There is an order to math, rules that have to be followed and patterns with predictable outcomes. It’s such a contrast to the chaotic mess that is his life lately. If nothing else, at least he can control numbers.

It feels good. Better than he’s felt in a really long time and Dick barely thinks about suicide at all. He doesn’t scrub half as hard when he showers and only cries once, in the night when he’s alone and his thoughts surround him. 

It’s okay. It’s good. It’s something like home.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s early morning and Kaldur is up watching the news, Artemis is drinking coffee and cleaning her bow, with M’gann making omelettes in the kitchen. Raquel and Zatanna have gone home to prepare for the school week and though Wally should’ve done the same, he couldn’t bring himself to leave now when the whole gang was back together. With Robin at the mountain everything just feels different somehow. Better, though not exactly the way he’s used to. Besides, one day away from AP Chemistry homework wasn’t gonna kill him.

Dick’s been up for hours, rising with the sun. He did some short practice in the rings, managed to pack his bags and since then perched himself on the couch, watching the news with great interest. Alfred’s kept him from any news sources for weeks, and it feels like a breath of cold air to finally have some kind of glimpse of what’s going on in the world.

Catastrophes, war, tax fraud, murder, it’s all the same old stories. The world doesn’t change much when you turn your back. There’s one short mention of his suicide attempt and the Wayne Foundation for Vulnerable Youth, something Bruce has set up to cover therapy costs for minors from disadvantaged families. Dick’s heard Alfred talk about it, but hasn’t really been paying attention.

Artemis visibly tenses when there’s a camera shot of him, up on that ledge and Dick has never seen himself like this before. He is a small, almost inconsequential speck in the distance. The camera zooms in on his wind tousled hair, cheeks red from the cold and body trembling. His eyes are clear as glass and he looks funny, somehow.

Dick is as if hypnotized, even Artemis can’t take her eyes off it. Kaldur says something about the whole thing, something very wise they’re sure but no one pays him any attention. Dick doesn’t notice his fists clenching until nails dig into skin.

The news segment is over just as quickly, and instead there is a story about a newly born panda at the Gotham zoo, and the subsequent competition to name the cub. Afterwards it switches over to the weather and after a rather gloomy report, Kaldur sets the TV on mute.

‘’I am relieved that it’s over’’

Dick gives him a sideways glance. ‘’What is?’’

‘’The copycat suicides’’ Kaldur grimaces and Artemis flinches at the mention. ‘’It was a horrible thing to witness’’

Dick feels like the air has been punched right out of him, like his chest has collapsed inwards, concave and echoing with grief.

‘’I don’t get what’s so great about that kid, anyway’’ Dick says, acid in his voice. ‘’Just because some spoiled brat decides to end it, people want to follow him?’’

Kaldur shrugs. ‘’Youth looks to youth. I suppose they see a kindred spirit in someone who suffers like them’’

Dick doesn’t know what to say to that. He looks at his hands which have gone numb.

‘’What an idiot’’ he says, mostly to himself.

He can feel Artemis’ pointed look.

‘’He was desperate’’ She says. A challenge lies heavy in her voice. ‘’Don’t be so hard on him, he’s probably got a lot on his plate right now’’

Kaldur nods. ‘’Yes, it’s far beyond us to know other people’s stories. We can only do our best to ease their pain’’

Dick scoffs. ‘’Yeah, well, maybe some things just can’t be fixed’’

Kaldur looks at him questioningly. Searching, as if there is some kind of answer written in his trembling hands, his tense jaw or hunched, curled up position.

‘’I suppose’’ Kaldur says thoughtfully. ‘’But I believe that everything can be worked around’’

Dick glances at him, searching his eyes. He sees Artemis in the background and her face has softened now. She puts her bow away and goes to refill her coffee. Nobody says anything for a while and by the time she’s returned, the tension in the room has almost shrunk down to normal levels.

It is moments later that everything goes wrong.

‘’ _Superboy – B04, Superman – 01’’_ rings through the large room and Dick imagines he feels his heart stop.

Kaldur senses his distress immediately but can do nothing as the two enter the room. Conner is the first to see him and a mix of excitement and trepidation twists his face.

‘’Robin?’’ he takes a step closer but Dick is frozen in place. ‘’I didn’t think you were –‘’

The tension in the room has grown exponentially, so heavy now as to be nearly physical. Kaldur gets up, not sure why or what he plans to do but like he needs to do something. Overcome with the feeling, he stands between them.

Conner glances uncertainly at Superman, who won’t take his eyes off Dick.

‘’Robin –‘’ Clark says, carefully, watching Dick like a powder keg.

Dick can’t stop the shiver that runs down his spine, through his bones until his entire body shakes like a house in a storm. His fists rapidly clench, turning an alarming shade of white as sweat pools in the dip of his neck. Short breaths force their way out of his nose in quick bursts.

Kaldur watches him uncertainly, like he is about to explode but unsure of what will set it off. Superman takes a step closer now and Dick immediately gets up. He stares at Superman, shaking so hard his breath hitches.

‘’What are you doing here?’’ he whispers, and a mortal man would strain to hear him.

‘’I… I came to drop Superboy off’’ He looks at Conner, who feels that something is horribly, terribly wrong.

Dick backs away from him when he reaches a hand out, flinches so sharply that he almost falls over.

‘’Robin, don’t –‘’ Clark knew better, should have known better, should’ve made sure he wasn’t there. It was only supposed to be for a couple of days. He wasn’t supposed to be here, was supposed to be home by Saturday night but it’s too late now and everything is wrong.

He doesn’t know what to say and Dick goes down hard, falls to his knees and he hears the bone hit the floor. Dick can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t feel anything but the pain. The blinding, searing, horrible pain that cuts through him until he is no longer there.

_He is bleeding everywhere, they are touching him, grabbing at him, pulling at him and it hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts and he wants to go home. He wants to disappear, he wants it to end, he wants to die, he wants to die, he can’t take it anymore._

_No one is coming for him, no one is looking, no one knows, no one’s coming he’s all alone and he wants to_ **_die_** –

Dick’s body is shaking violently. Every inch of his skin burns as memories blend with the present. He can’t breathe, struggles for air like drowning, curling into himself to protect from the hands and the knives and the pain.

Conner glares at Superman as if this was his own physical doing, as if he’d leapt over and struck the boy. Kaldur rushes to do something, but the moment he puts a hand on him, Dick starts to scream.

_It wasn’t supposed to be like this it shouldn’t be like this, it hurts all through his body, all through his skin and his bones and his blood and his muscle. It is worse than anything he’s ever felt. He wishes he could black out, but he can feel every single hand on him, every breath, every touch and he wants them all to die –_

M’gann and Artemis appear from the kitchen. At the sight of Dick on the floor, Artemis knows exactly who to blame.

‘’What the hell did you do?!’’

Superman doesn’t know, doesn’t know how to fix it. Almost immediately after entering the room, M’gann whimpers and sways.  She almost falls, but Artemis catches her just in time.

‘’M’gann, are you okay?’’

M’gann is crying, tears streaming down her face, staining her shirt. Her body shakes in violent twists.

_He wants to break them, tear them apart, like they’ve torn him apart but it’s too late now. It’s too late, it’s gone, it’s over, this is it, this is the god damn end. Why couldn’t they just have killed him?_

M’gann whines, and Dick whines, together in unison as the humiliation runs right through them like putrid, scorching water. They throw up at the same time.

Conner runs to M’gann, holds her tight, but it won’t stop the shaking. Won’t stop the crying and the images bombarding her like heavy hail.

‘’What the hell is going on? Is every—‘’ Wally stops dead in his tracks in the doorway, still in his pajamas, eyes drunk on sleep. The color drains from his face when he sees the scene unfolding.

Superman holds a hand out and stops him from rushing forward.

‘’Dude, get out of the way!’’

Clark’s eyes are as cold as his voice.

‘’No’’

Wally tries to argue, but he can’t find the words. Confident he won’t move, Clark hesitantly gets closer to Dick and crouches down. Dick is crying quietly, arms covering his head as he tries to make himself as hard as possible to hit. He starts thrashing almost as soon as Clark grabs his shoulders.

‘’No! No, don’t touch me, don’t touch me _–‘’_ he screams and M’gann can feel his desperation clawing inside her own ribs. ‘’Don’t _touch me,_ no _, no_ please, please no –‘’

Clark holds him close, fights against the flailing limbs, the hands that scratch at his face. Dick digs his nails in deep but it has no effect on invulnerable skin. He kicks but it’s like kicking concrete. Dick feels trapped, so trapped, he’s suffocating and he’s going to die.

M’gann trembles and dry heaves, her legs too weak to hold her up. She has to struggle with all her power to close the wave, the avalanche of emotions crashing through her mind. She forces the gates of her mind closed, and it takes all her power not to fall. Conner holds her close to him, and in the scent of him she finds comfort.

M’gann can’t stop crying. ‘’Oh, Robin, I’m so sorry –‘’ she chokes on a sob. ‘’I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry’’

‘’M’gann, can you do something? Can you calm him’’ Kaldur says, voice hard.

She trembles. ‘’I don’t know if I can’’

He looks at her. ‘’Please, you have to try, he will hurt himself’’

Clark holds him close, close to the beat of his heart, to the warmth of his body. His arms threatening at first, much too close and hard and confining, now seem protective and warm as recognition hits. Dick knows that smell; a terrible cologne that makes his nose tickle.

‘’You came –‘’ he grabs onto Clark’s uniform with white knuckles. ‘'You came, you made it, you made it, you actually made it’’

Clark tries not to think about it too much. ‘’It’s okay, kid. I made it’’

Dick has no more words, no more fight or strength. His body goes limp, trembling powerfully with the sobs that don’t seem to stop coming. His entire body is in pain, like an animal hit by a car, limping off into the dark, waiting to die.

‘’It’s over’’ Clark says very quietly. ‘’You’re safe now’’


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: descriptions of violence and mentions of sexual assault

‘’What the _fuck_ is going on?!’’ Wally pushes Conner backwards. He only stumbles a little but Wally’s wrists ache with pain as if he just hit a mountain.

‘’I don’t know!’’ Conner tries very hard not to punch him. He doesn’t, however, try very hard not to shout. ‘’We showed up and he freaked out! I don’t _know_ what happened!’’

‘’You must’ve done _something_! I haven’t seen him freak out like this –‘’ Wally waves his arms frantically, gaping for words. ‘’ _Ever_!’’

‘’I think Superman must have triggered some memories’’ Kaldur steps between them. Superman doesn’t say anything but his face is hard. ‘’He was the one to rescue Robin, after all’’

‘’I guess… ‘’ Wally says, still glaring at Conner. ‘’I mean I thought Supes was just being a jerk like usual and avoiding him – no offense – ‘’ He glances quickly at Clark

‘’They have not seen each other since the rescue’’ Kaldur nods. ‘’Superman might have feared this would happen’’

Conner’s eyes are hard but sorrowful, unyielding from Wally’s own gaze which is lessening in edge.

‘’I didn’t want him to feel… forgotten’’ Conner frowns, his jaws clicking and Wally can tell that he means it. Can see the struggle on his face to convey what he can’t completely understand, to express emotions he can’t even name. A little of the anger smoldering inside Wally begins to fizzle out.

‘’Robin looks up to him and I didn’t want him to be… jealous. I thought he would be home by now. I didn’t mean for him to meet – ‘’

‘’It is not your fault, Conner’’ Superman says and all eyes turn to him. He frowns, uncomfortable under the attention but his gaze remains resolute. ‘’It was my mistake to come here’’

Kaldur gives Conner an empathetic look. ‘’You could not have foreseen this, my friend’’

M’gann has said nothing for a long time. Still crying she holds herself, looking for some kind of relief.  The pain remains in her heart like an echo, a shadow of what she had seen in her mind. Robin’s emotions had been so strong, he hadn’t meant to broadcast them but they had pelted her like rocks. One more hurtful than the one before.

‘’I saw’’ she whimpers. ‘’I saw it, I saw it, I –‘’ she lets out a sob. ‘’I saw Robin, I –’’

Conner wraps his arms around her. Clark gives M’gann a look, and the two seem to share some sort of brief understanding.

‘’That’s it’’ Wally says. ‘’Somebody better tell me what the hell is going on!’’

M’gann covers her mouth. It’s not her place, not her right to share but it’s not her right to _know_. Why must she be alone with this burden? She’s glad the others couldn’t see it, couldn’t hear his screams as vividly as if they’d been her own. Around them furniture is gently rattling, shaking with the waves of her distress. It settles only after she’s taken a few deep breaths but a small tremor remains.

‘’Why didn’t you tell us?’’ Her eyes are hard and red with tears when she looks at Clark.

‘’Tell us what?’’ Wally demands. When Clark doesn’t answer, he starts to shout. ‘’ _What_ , man?! What the hell is going on?!’’

Clark clenches his jaws tightly, teeth whining under the pressure before finally releasing. Like a stream he can feel the strength wash right out of him. It was stupid to keep it from them, in the end.

‘’Batman wanted to keep it quiet, and I would agree that it’s Robin’s business until he feels ready to tell you but –‘’ Clark sighs. ‘’I guess it doesn’t matter now’’ 

‘’We are all familiar with keeping secrets’’ Kaldur says and looks at them all. ‘’It hasn’t worked out well for us so far’'

  
Wally looks at M’gann, at Artemis who only looks sad, knowingly so. He feels that cold, heavy feeling that sinks through his stomach, dragging him down until he finds it hard to stand straight.

A feeling of fear that lingers and murmurs but never fully rises. A feeling he can squash deep, deep down until it becomes only an afterthought. An itch, a steady buzzing at the back of his brain that only keeps him up some nights and is difficult, but not impossible, to ignore.

‘’You’re worrying me, Supes’’

‘’Robin was raped’’ It’s Artemis that says it. Like a gun has just gone off, the room is left eerily quiet.

M’gann starts sobbing again, Conner’s eyes are wide and incredulous and Wally feels like he’s just been punched in the stomach.

‘’What?’’

 ‘’It all makes sense’’ Kaldur says solemnly. ‘’I can’t say I haven’t suspected it, but I did not want to believe it’’

‘’What the hell are you talking about?’’ Wally says, voice slightly high pitched. ‘’Wha – who – come on!’’

‘’It’s true’’ Clark says. They share a long look between them and Wally’s chest crowds with rage.

‘’Did _every_ one know?’’

‘’I figured it out’’ Artemis says, and she sounds almost apologetic.

Wally wants to punch something. Wants to kick a wall or run a thousand laps around the state. He wants to fight somebody, destroy something before his anger destroys him.

The trembling, the aversion to touch, he didn’t want to talk, it was too hard to talk, too dark for him to know. What could possibly be so bad? Of course. Wally knew. He must’ve known, somehow, mustn’t he? What would be worse? What would be worse and how could he not have known? Of course Wally knew, deep down, he must’ve known. What kind of best friend wouldn’t _know?_

‘’I’m taking him home’’ Superman says. ‘’I’ll ask Batman to update you’’

Wally feels sick to his stomach.

‘’Screw that!’’ Wally says ‘’You’re not just gonna disappear like that!’’

‘’He’s our friend’’ Conner says and looks Superman straight in the eyes.

‘’And you can see him when he’s ready, but for now he needs to go _home_ ’’

Conner grits his teeth down hard, but says nothing. M’gann dries her eyes and sniffles. She won’t sleep tonight, and maybe not for many nights to come. The images are dark and haunting and she knows they will cling to her like ghosts. It feels a small burden to bear compared to her friend’s.

‘’I didn’t know’’ she whispers. ‘’I didn’t know’’

‘’I know this is difficult to hear, but Robin needs you now. I want you to be patient with him’’

Superman turns towards Robin’s quarters and no one says a word. There’s nothing left to say, but Wally wants to scream.

‘’We can’t just stand here while –‘’ Wally’s mouth hangs open and empty for words, his fists clenching into trembling fists. ‘’This is – ’’

‘’Wally’’ Artemis says, and she sounds so mournful, like she owes him something. ‘’Don’t blame your –‘’

‘’Don’t bother’’ Wally doesn’t know why he’s feelings so venomous, why he’s spitting the words out like they were acid. He’s not sure who he’s angry at. Not Artemis, not really, not even Superman.

Himself, maybe. It doesn’t really matter. He needs to think and he needs to scream at something and Wally needs to _run_.

‘’Wally!’’ Her voice falls into silence as a gust of wind flings her ponytail around. 

Wally is gone in a whirl of air and out of the cave before the teleporter has barely had time to say his name.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dick is sleeping soundly in an unconscious, soft and empty slumber. M’gann had sedated him psychically, sunk him into a dark where nothing was hard and nothing was frightening. Dick rests more than he’s rested in a very long time.

 Bruce looks like he wants to kill Clark when he arrives, but he restrains himself from trying. He is quick to put the boy to bed and once Alfred’s stationed himself by the bedside, Bruce takes Clark aside and gives him a few choice words.

  
Clark doesn’t argue with him. He only feels a heavy, leaded weight in his chest and wonders if maybe this could have been avoidable. Or was it just the final straw, bound to snap eventually? Maybe this needed to happen.

It reminds him too much of the day they found him.

Clark had seen red. Rage boiling inside, he could barely contain it, could barely, just barely, restrain himself. There was blood, so much blood, he could smell it before he saw it. Could hear every sound, every nauseating, revolting noise.

A quick x-ray shows him there are no broken bones, no internal bleeding. Nothing is wrong with him but Robin’s face is covered in blood, caked through his hair, around his eyes, out his ears, nose and mouth. It’s varying colors of dark red to brown, some of it black, and the smell is so overwhelming at first he can barely breathe.

Robin – Dick, where’s his mask? – Clark panics, can’t see the mask, can’t see his tunic, his cape, where is it all? Where is his utility belt, who tied him down like that – Clark needs to focus, and though it only takes a second for him to scan the room, it feels like too long before he jumps at them.

There is a man, over him, on him in ways that are wrong, wrong, wrong. He knocks the man off the boy, crashes him into a wall and he can _hear_ the bones snap. Can feel his femur grind into a fine dust. The man falls to the floor spitting blood. Clark nearly kills the next one, but he will live. They will all live, though some will never truly recover.

It is the least they deserve, he thinks.

 They’re all on the floor in writhing piles of moaning. Blood soaking through their clothes, bone piercing through the skin, jaws unhinged, arms bent backwards. He doesn’t recognize their faces at all, out of towners, but it doesn’t matter now.

 Walls crumble under his hands, instruments of torture bent, burnt, scorched. He leaves the room looking like a surrealist painting.

 Crimson details, a broken table, cracks in the floor. He doesn’t stop hitting, doesn’t stop punching, smashing, breaking, not when Diana tries to hold him back. Not even when Hal binds his arms, or the others he can’t even see, can’t count them because he’s so angry he can barely even see.  
  
''Get him home.''

He can tell, not by the voice but by the way his heart beats, that Bruce is just as furious, feels just as sick. His hands are clenched the entire time. Clark wants to vomit.  
  
''Are you --''  
  
''He needs medical attention. You're the fastest flyer.'’ Clark doesn’t want to go, isn’t done, is still burning, fuming, _seething_ \-- '' _Go._ ''

Dick is shivering, teeth clattering and breath hitching, coming out in quick, shallow bursts. But he doesn’t move, makes no other sounds, doesn’t even cry. Goosebumps cover his skin, but only that. There are no cuts, no scars, no bruises, so where is all this blood from? Old streaks of tears are caked through the blood on his face, but Robin remains silent. Looking through Clark like he isn’t even there.

‘’It’s okay’’ Clark says, even if it isn’t. ‘’I’m here’’

Dick doesn’t protest when Clark collects him in his arms, holds him close to himself. He feels smaller than usual, and though all humans are frail, Clark has never held anyone so carefully.

When Dick feels the smell of his uniform, the distinct cologne he remembers – Lois gave it to him, two years ago on their anniversary, it was horrible but he wore it anyway – he clings onto the ‘S’ for dear life, trembling violently.

 ‘’You came –‘’ Dick croaks. ‘’You made it, you made it, you actually made it’’

‘’It’s okay, kid. I made it’’ Clark clenched his jaws until they hurt. He could feel the stickiness of blood against his hands. ‘’It’s over. You’re safe now’’

He gently starts floating up, a last, regretful look at the other league members, then he’s gone.

He flew as quickly as he could without it being dangerous. It was hard to remember how fast a human could move, but he shied on the side of caution. Dick was still trembling, hands never releasing their cramped clutch of his shirt. He made no sounds, but he wouldn’t stop shaking.

Clark wasn’t sure where to go, specifically, the tower was so far away, even with the transporters, Gotham was closer, he didn’t seem to have any injuries and Alfred could handle it.

Alfred was at a loss for words in a way Clark had never seen. The butler felt the way he’d felt the only other time he’d ever seen something like this, was way back when Two-Face had almost killed him. He had hoped he would never have to feel that dread again. It was an all consuming, pitch black darkness that engulfed his body. Like immersing himself in ice cold water.

Alfred looked him over, but there were no obvious wounds. Nothing to do, nothing he could patch up and fix, and there was so much that would need fixing.

Dick refused to let go of Clark’s sleeve. He didn’t scream, didn’t cry, barely flinched when Alfred touched him but he would not let go. Clark got the task to wash him off.

He dreaded it, with every part of him. His heartbeat steadily beating in the back of his throat, he tried to remember a time he’d ever felt so useless. It was mechanic, the way they both moved. He’d feared the boy wouldn’t let him undress him, or put him in the tub, he didn’t even react when the warm water hit him.

The blood came off him slowly. He worked shampoo into his hair, dry and hard in cakes of brown. The water became dark around him, but Dick didn’t seem to notice.

He put him in a robe, dried his hair. It felt so strange to him, not at all like washing himself, or like washing a dog. But he did it, with surprising ease. Maybe it was distracting him enough to not think of what he’d seen. What they’d both seen.

He knew it would not be easy to forget.  But if he could stop thinking about it, for just a bit, that would be enough. 

He sent Dick to bed, watching him until he drifted off into an empty, but restless, slumber. He waited at the mansion for a few hours more, Bruce sat beside him. They said nothing. 

Clark’s chest was stained with blood.

 

 

* * *

 

Bruce had never seen him like that before. Dick had shut down. Not even J’onn could coax him out of it, completely withdrawn within himself, not looking anyone in the eye and barely acknowledging their presence. He was slumped, constantly quiet, enveloped in a nothingness that filled the room. 

Bruce would sit with him, even when getting any sort of reaction out of him was impossible. Long after he stopped expecting anything, he remained, sitting there. Quietly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The mistake he made was to ask him about it. Ask Dick to tell him what had happened. Asked about what they did, when he _knew_. Clark had told him, he had seen the blood. He was so used to Dick’s silence, his snap reply came as a bit of a shock.

At first it was low, irritable, but familiar. The yelling didn’t start until Bruce brought up the rape, and it didn’t stop for a very long time. Bruce has been thrown out of many rooms before, but this time it hurt more.

Dick wouldn’t talk to him for the rest of the day, wouldn’t talk to Alfred, wouldn’t even pick up the phone when his friends called him. Not even for Wally.

Bruce thought the two may never reconcile, until one evening Dick came down to dinner like nothing had happened. He made a joke about Alfred’s apron, a joke he didn’t put much effort into, but it was there. Like nothing.

Like dust, shaken off and forgotten. 

Dick had smiled at him and Bruce had known something was very, very wrong.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘’ _My apologies, Robin, if this is intrusive to you. I wish only to help and, though I will respect your privacy and will not pry, I want you to know that you can always turn to me. I may not understand what you have gone through, but I am your friend. We are_ all _your friends and when you are ready, we will be here._ ’’

Kaldur’s voice is gentle, too gentle. It hurts to listen to his message more than once. He’d almost forgotten about his wrist computer. Hadn’t looked at it in months. On waking up he had seen it and the glove it belonged to, haphazardly strewn under his bed.  Using it came like second nature, and within moments he was immersed in checking settings, updating programs and had stumbled on the message. It was dated around the time Kaldur had suspended him from the team all those months ago.

Dick holds the glove in his hand, staring out into space. There are specks of dust whirling around in the sunbeams, peeking through his curtains.  He feels hypnotized while his heavy body sinks deep into the mattress. Every part of him aches. His head is heavy and thick, unmoving as if filled with tar.

He gently thinks of nothing, only faintly aware of the memory of his fingers being broken, far away like a half-forgotten movie.

There is nothing left in him beside an emptiness, as if his whole body has short circuited. Did any of this even happen?

There is a knock on the door, barely breaking through the fog in his head. He doesn’t answer, but doesn’t need to. The door is unlocked, constantly now, Bruce has seen to it. And it is Bruce that pokes his head in. Dick doesn’t even look at him, but he knows who it is.

‘’Dick?’’

Dick is still staring at his glove, the holographic screen of his computer blinking a steady message.

_Reply? Delete? Call ‘Gillhead’?  
_

Bruce enters the room, noticing the slight disarray of clothes on the floor, his ward splayed on his stomach, arm hanging over the edge of the bed. It smells stuffy in here and he suspects Dick hasn’t opened a window in some time. He steps over to one of the tall windows, wordlessly, pulling the curtains. He’d half expected Dick to make a vampiric hiss, but his ward is silent. Doesn’t say a word even as Bruce leaves the window slightly ajar.

A fresh smell of late spring drifts through the window. He hears the song of what he thinks might be a house wren, bouncing jovially through the air.

He leans against the windowsill, arms crossed as he looks at the boy. Dick is still staring at the holo-screen.

‘’Are we going to talk about it?’’ Bruce says, not really expecting an answer.

Dick glances at him, hair a tousled mess, he looks like any other teenage boy, refusing to get out of bed. Except Dick is not _any other_ , always up with the sun, ready to go, ready to do something. The text book definition of a morning person, joking over a bowl of cereal. At least, that’s how Bruce wants to remember him.

Not this limp assortment of limbs and sad eyes hidden underneath covers and pillows.

Bruce sighs. ‘’You can’t stay in here forever. Sooner or later, you’ll have to face it’’

Dick stares back at his screen again.

Bruce waits during a long moment of silence. Dick keeps his unblinking gaze at the screen, never once moving. When Bruce realizes he isn’t going to, he lets out a quiet sigh and gets up. Pausing at the door, he gives the boy an unreadable look.

‘’I am not giving up on you’’

Not waiting for an answer, knowing there won’t be one, Bruce leaves the room without shutting the door completely.

Dick plays the message again.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw mentions of rape
> 
> @ DC hire me you cowards
> 
> oh and in the spirit of last time this fic was up, here's the playlist i listen to when writing:  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/bajspanter/playlist/1Xg6QxTtBpJvjKLZ2dWtUX?si=I1h2JyTMSvi4tdJB08FZzQ

Bruce knows he’s there before Dick clears his throat. Dick knows that he knows, but does it anyway, mostly to break the silence which until now has been punctuated only by Bruce’s methodical typing. He turns in the chair to give Dick a look he hopes isn’t uninviting.

‘’Yes?’’

Dick, for the first time since he came to Wayne Manor, looks strangely misplaced in the cave. In the cold blue light of the monitors the shadows cast on his face makes him look pointier, more hollowed out. The way Dick is uncomfortably standing and glancing around at every corner of the cave, it’s like he’s a tourist in a strange and dangerous land.

Dick doesn’t let it show but puts considerable effort into meeting Bruce’s gaze. At least he could pretend to have some courage left.  
  
‘’Does anyone know?’’

‘’Know what?’’

Dick frowns. For a long moment Bruce doesn’t think he’s going to answer. He watches his ward struggle, jaws twitching as he grinds his teeth. Without looking away, Dick takes a deep breath.

‘’Does anyone know what…’’ He hesitates only briefly. ‘’What they did, does anyone know –’’

‘’I need you to say it’’ Bruce’s voice isn’t unkind, but it’s clearly an order. He’s known him for long enough to at least know that.

Dick glares at him, teeth painfully pressing against each other, before he exhales sharply through his nose.

‘’Does anyone know I was raped?’’

As soon as the words have left his mouth Dick feels strange. As if a great hand has reached into his chest and hollowed it out; pulling his lungs out like wet tissue. His heart beats faster but seems achingly still at the same time. For a moment every sound in the cave intensifies into an unbearable cacophony, before abruptly silencing.

Bruce’s face changes into something unreadable but grim. Dick gasps for air, his body strange and distant to him. He feels as if falling through a cloud, burnt by static electricity and smelling ozone.

‘’No’’ It feels like a small eternity before Bruce speaks. ‘’No one except the League. We wiped –’’

‘’I know you wiped their memories, I meant –‘’ His eyes flicker briefly before he forces them back. ‘’Just the League?’’

Bruce nods. Dick swallows hard against the lump in his throat.

‘’I need to see him’’

He isn’t surprised at the bitter look on Bruce’s face, he expected resistance. After all, it was all over. The bad guys were locked away, the day was saved. There is no reason to disturb the peace when everything’s okay. Except Dick isn’t okay, and Bruce isn’t okay, and nothing is as put together as he wishes it to be.  
  
‘’I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Dick’’

‘’I don’t care!’’ His voice echoes briefly between the wet cave walls, leaving a silence behind much heavier than the one before. ‘’I need to see him, Bruce, I …’’  
  
Bruce watches him patiently.  
  
‘’If he can’t even remember…’’ Dick takes a deep breath. ‘’If no one remembers, it’s like this never happened’’

‘’I see’’

Dick sighs and finally looks away. ‘’I thought that’s what I wanted, to just… have it all go away but…’’

‘’But _you_ can’t forget’’

Dick looks at him again. His throat feels smaller somehow.

‘’Yeah’’ he says quietly.

Bruce rises out of his seat and at first Dick feels himself shrink back, weary of something he’s not entirely sure what it is. Bruce would never hurt him, he knows that, but at the back of his head he feels vulnerable. Like a blade is constantly held against his throat. Still, through some small miracle, when Bruce walks over to him he doesn’t back away.

‘’Is this really what you want?’’ Bruce gives him a long and searching look that sees to reach right through him, a searchlight illuminating every narrow corner of his mind.

‘’I don’t know’’ Dick admits. ‘’I just know I have to’’

Bruce regards him for a thoughtful moment. His eyes are secretive and hard to read but there is an edge of grief to them. ‘’You don’t have to do anything’’

They stare at each other in silence for a while. Dick hears the blood pumping through his veins echo through his skull. Eventually, Bruce’s posture changes.

‘’Gordon wants to see you’’

‘’Me? Or Robin?’’

‘’Robin’’

Dick’s eyebrows pull together in a frown.

‘’Huh’’

‘’It’s non-negotiable’’

‘’I figured’’

The corner of Bruce’s mouth lifts in a tired half-smile.

‘’He demands to see Robin. He’s… concerned’’

‘’Aren’t we all’’ Dick huffs and nearly rolls his eyes but stops himself just in time. He pulls a hand through his hair. ‘’Alright, if it’s a police order I guess I gotta’’

Bruce makes a face like he doesn’t really want to, like he’s been wedged in between a narrow passage and can’t quite figure out how to slither out.

‘’When?’’ Dick says. Bruce regards him for a moment.

‘’As soon as possible’’

 ‘’Will the suit still fit?’’

Bruce cocks a brow. ‘’We can make alterations’’

‘’Okay’’ Dick nods, biting his cheek.

‘’Okay?’’

Dick shrugs. ‘’Don’t have much of a choice’’

‘’No, I suppose we don’t’’

Dick looks at Bruce in a false show of defiance, a bravado he hasn’t been able to conjure in a very long time. Feeling his stomach twist into knots, he is nauseous but manages to hide it pretty well.

‘’I’ll do it if I can… If I can see _him_ ’’

The hard oppositional edge immediately returns to Bruce’s face.

‘’Absolutely not’’

‘’I can handle it!’’

Bruce stares pointedly at him, eyes seeming to cut into his bones. Dick puts all the energy he has, all the stubbornness he can conjure, into his eyes as he stares back.

‘’I have no doubts that you can, but I don’t want you to’’

‘’I _need_ to see him, Bruce’’ He doesn’t want to plead, isn’t here to beg. He’s already made up his mind. ‘’ _That_ ’ _s_ non-negotiable’’

The two stand in an awkward silence for a while, staring intently at each other. Eventually Bruce moves to put a hand on his shoulder. He lets it hover in the air. When Dick doesn’t move away he takes it as a sign to continue, and gives his sharp shoulder a tight squeeze.

‘’I’ll look into it’’ he says. ‘’But you will _not_ go alone’’

He returns back to his seat before Dick can protest. Across the monitors ghastly faces peer down on them in somber judgment. Dick watches him work, for how long he isn’t sure. No words spring to life inside him and after a stretch of itching discomfort, Dick walks away.

When he is well outside hearing and viewing distance, Bruce pulls up a familiar face on the screen. The Ornithologist’s yellow eyes and sunken face peer lifelessly from a mugshot, a dozen more mugshots like it loading in the background.

 Bruce rests his chin against clasped hands and stares back at them in silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘’Abso _lutely_ not’’ Bruce is about to shut the door right in his face, but it’s hard to slam the door on someone just a bit shy of the speed of sound.

 Like an annoying house fly, Wally buzzes behind him, already inside the foyer of the mansion. Bruce closes the door much too late but isn’t ready to admit defeat just yet.

‘’I do _not_ want you compromising his recovery. He’s been making progress and –‘’

‘’I just want to make sure he’s okay’’

Bruce makes a face. ‘’He’s not’'  
  
‘’Just let me take him outside or something, stretch his legs!’’

‘’It’s not going to happen’’

‘’Come _on_ , man!’’

Bruce’s chronic headache grows more intrusive. He pinches the bridge of his nose, not masking even an ounce of annoyance. Wally is hardly oblivious but remains as unwavering as an old oak tree.

‘’Please, dude’’ Wally’s eyes are pleading, something rarely seen. ‘’I don’t wanna beg’’

‘’Listen’’ Bruce gives him a very long, tired look. ‘’I know that you and Dick have a _special_ relationship – _‘’_

Wally feels instinctually uncomfortable. ‘’Excuse you?’’

‘’— and I know you mean well, but he needs some time. These past few days have been hard’’

Wally groans in frustration, hands rubbing at his face.

‘’He’s not even here right now’’ Bruce says.

‘’What? Where the hell is he!?’’

Bruce is feeling more and more aggravated, not only at Wally’s seeming imperviousness to his threatening nature, but at the unceasing need to constantly have to explain himself to everyone.

‘’He’s out with J’onn. _Nothing’s_ wrong’’

Wally realizes he’s been making a face. Bruce’s eyes get just a little bit softer.

‘’Wally, I appreciate that you’re concerned, and Dick does too, but things are volatile right now’’

‘’He’s my best bud!’’ Wally’s eyes have not lost their defiance. ‘’He needs his friends’’

‘’It’s a sensitive time’’

‘’Oh, screw you!’’

Bruce is too shocked to be angry, one brow raised in incredulity. Wally blushes slightly as the voice of reason in his head panics, but he squashes it down before any real reflection of his actions can begin.

‘’I’m gonna sit right here and wait until he gets back!’’ Wally demonstratively plops himself down on an old, antique chair.

Bruce considers moving him. He decides against it. Some things are simply not worth the effort.

‘’He doesn’t want to see anyone’’

‘’Hey, and I didn’t want them to cancel _Dark Angel_ , but here we are!’’

Bruce’s eyes grow dark, almost black as he looms over Wally like a vast shadow. Wally does a good job of not letting himself appear intimidated, despite a slight tremble in his gut.

After subjecting him to a long, long stare that gives him goosebumps, Bruce sighs.

‘’I’m going to call Barry’’

‘’Oh, I’m scared!’’ Wally throws his hands in the air. ‘’Call Superman for all I care, I’m not leaving!’’

Bruce is already way out of hearing range, walking away with determined steps. Wally’s voice echoes in the large hall, each echo making him feel smaller. This was perhaps not the best of ideas but at least it _was_ an idea.

Wally sighs and stares at his watch.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

J’onn has taken therapy outdoors this time. They only go as far as the mansion grounds, in the nearby woods where the sun is warm and the cold spring breeze doesn’t reach. Birds are still singing, he can see them jumping between branches with vigorous bounce. Trees are slowly birthing buds, grass rising from the earth while the frost slowly melts away. He is tricked into doing tai chi but J’onn is a good instructor and he finds he doesn’t really mind.

They stretch the stiffness from their limbs and Dick even tries to do a handstand.

‘’How are you doing, Dick?’’

They are sitting cross legged on the grass, looking up at the sky, blue and endless. There is only the barest hint of a cloud, like breath in winter. Dick’s cheeks feel rosy and his heart beats a steady rhythm.

‘’Honestly?’’

‘’Honestly’’

Dick sighs.

‘’Awful’’

J’onn nods as if he understands. If he truly does, Dick doesn’t care. If he had to explain any further, he’s not sure he could. How cold everything is, inside, how a blanket of numbness just spreads through his body until every nerve has been burned off. There’s nothing left to feel but a heavy weight pulling him towards the ground. Every step his shoulder sag, his head droops, his feet drag just a little bit deeper.

‘’What happened at the mountain?’’

Dick’s face immediately goes dark. Even though he expected the question to come, his body still curls into itself in a defensive position. J’onn feels the distress and the disgust radiating off him. He barely stops himself from reaching out a soothing, psychic touch.

‘’I’m not even sure’’

‘’Seeing Superman triggered your memories?’’

Dick swallows.

 ‘’It’s like nothing… nothing changed at all…’’

‘’And what are you thinking about it?’’

‘’I’m thinking it was stupid of me to go there at all’’ He clenches his teeth. ‘’How can I go back there now? After the stupid _scene_ I made…’’

‘’What would have been helped by staying away?’’

‘’At least they wouldn’t have seen me like that!’’ Dick shouts, then calms his voice again. It takes some effort, but he manages to still the anger. ‘’I don’t… I didn’t want them to see me like that’’

‘’Vulnerable?’’

‘’ _Weak’’_ Dick spits the word out like it tastes bad.

J’onn nods.

‘’You feel ashamed and weak. Like all agency has been taken from you’’

Dick glances at him. ‘’You’re not reading my mind, are you?’’

J’onn makes a small smile. He shakes his head.

‘’I do not need to’’

Dick hastily looks away. There is that disgusting, sticky, cloying feeling in his mouth again. That agonizing burn that fills his throat until he can barely breathe. The filth has etched itself into his skin, and no matter what he does, how much he washes, changes his clothes or tries to claw it out of himself, it remains. It has become part of him now.

‘’Let us analyze this’’ J’onn shifts his legs a bit, having gone stiff from the sitting. ‘’Why do you think you are weak?’’

Dick groans. ‘’You know why’’

‘’Please, tell me’’

‘’I just shouldn’t… I don’t know!’’ Dick gestures in exasperation. ‘’Everybody thinks of me as some sort of prodigy, like one day I’ll just lead the team and everybody expects me to be some sort of –‘’

J’onn smirks. ‘’Boy wonder?’’

Dick gives him a glare. ‘’Yeah’’

‘’And that image clashes with the image of you reacting to your trauma?’’

 ‘’Why do I have to react at all? Why can’t I just… move on?’’

‘’You must first admit to yourself that it has happened, and that it has wounded you. How can you heal something you do not acknowledge? How do you tend to something you do not see?’’

Dick rolls his eyes. ‘’Yeah, journaling and visualizing and whatever the hell it is you make me do, doesn’t seem to be cutting it’’

J’onn smiles patiently.

‘’When your parents died, what did you do?’’

Dick looks at his hands. ‘’I became Robin’’

‘’You channeled all that pain and anger and guilt into helping others’’

‘’It was either that or destroying myself’’

‘’So why don’t you do that, now?’’

Dick looks at him.

‘’ _How_?’’

‘’How?’’ J’onn looks quizzical.

‘’How can I ever pass myself off as a hero after what happened? I’m – I’m –‘’

‘’Ruined?’’

Dicks goes very, very quiet.

‘’Yeah’’ he says in a low voice. ‘’I can’t save anybody. Not like this’’

J’onn lets out a slow breath. Wind rustles the grass, grazing against his bare ankles. J’onn looks up towards the sky, somewhere in the direction of Mars.

‘’You must stop feeling guilty about it. It was out of your control’’

‘’I can’t explain it’’ Dick picks at some dry skin around his nails. ‘’I can feel it, you know. The, the _grime_. It’s all over me, I…’’ He looks at J’onn. ‘’What do I _do_?’’

‘’You can start by telling me what happened’’

‘’At the mountain?’’

‘’No.  When you were taken’’

‘’I…’’ His breath hitches, his mouth dry. Silence hangs heavy above their heads.

‘’You are only harming yourself by keeping this inside’’

Dick takes a deep breath through his nose and releases a long, deliberate exhale.

‘’Do you know what happens to a human body when it’s electrocuted?’’

J’onn’s face stiffens.

‘’It depends on the voltage, length of current and time of exposure, of course –‘’ He says. ‘’But most commonly there will be burning and scarring of the skin, muscle cramps, fibrillation of the heart, you may lose control of your bladder and bowels…’’

Dick grimaces. ‘’Yeah’’

‘’You were tortured with electric shocks?’’

‘’Yeah’’

‘’And you… soiled yourself’’

‘’Not a great moment, for me’’ Dick’s smile looks awful.

‘’And if that happened to someone else, would you judge them?’’

‘’Of course not’’ Dick looks mildly offended. ‘’It’s not like you can fight against your body. It’s just what _happens_ ’’

‘’So why are you the exception?’’

Dick grimaces. He wants to protest, but has no idea what to say. Even if he feels it in the depths of his gut, the farthest corners of his mind, feels that he’s _disgustingweakpatheticdeservinguseless_ – he’s not entirely sure why or how to explain it.

‘’Can you help how your body responds to trauma?’’

‘’I mean…’’

‘’Can you in earnest say that someone who has been victimized is to blame?’’

Dick clenches his fists. ‘’I wasn’t victimized, I was just… just stupid’’

‘’And that means you deserve that?’’

‘’No, I mean…’’ Dick looks at him. ‘’I don’t know’’

J’onn makes a thoughtful sound.

‘’People do stupid things all the time, Dick, that does not mean they should be brutalized’’

‘’Of course not!’’ Dick snarls. ‘’It’s just not the _same_ , I –‘’

‘’Why not?’’

‘’Because!’’ Dick covers his face. His breath is shaking, agonizing, painful like breathing in too cold air. ‘’Because I still feel his hands all over and I should have _known better_ , I should have escaped, I should’ve – _done_ something. There must have been _something_ I could’ve done, there _has_ to –’’

He holds his breath. Bursts of stars explode behind his eyelids as he pressed them tightly closed to keep from crying. A breath hitches out of him, stumbles as if wounded. In the bottom of his chest he feels an indescribable burning.

‘’Let us look at it this way’’ J’onn says. ‘’When you have a wound, you do not put salt in it, correct?’’

Dick sighs and doesn’t answer.

‘’What you do with your negative thoughts, when you put misguided blame on yourself, when you shame yourself for what happened, you are salting that wound. Now, a salted wound will never close’’

Dick feels tears seep between his fingers. He tries to snort the snot back into his nose but fails.

 ‘’You must forgive yourself, Dick’’ This time, he does reach out a soothing wave of psychic energy. Dick doesn’t immediately slap it away. ‘’This is the first step’’

Dick stumbles on a sob, grief thrashing through his chest. The very tips of his fingers tingle.

‘’I can’t’’ He looks at J’onn with red eyes. ‘’I can’t’’

‘’You can’’ J’onn stares back with utmost conviction. ‘’And I will help you’’

Dick can’t stop, as much as he wants to, he can’t reel it in. The hurt is all consuming and it overpowers him as easily as an ocean wave breaks frail human bodies.

‘’Please’’ J’onn urges. ‘’Tell me what happened’’

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Wally straightens up immediately when the doors open. They’re both equally surprised to see each other and at first Wally almost forgets why he’s there. 

Dick looks at Wally like he’s facing his own execution.

‘’You wanna go for a ride?’’

Wally blinks in confusion. He had come prepared for resistance, had been prepared to argue and scream his throat raw. It takes him a moment to stop gaping and answer. ‘’Uhm. Sure?’’

‘’Come on’’ Dick turns around without waiting to see if he’s followed.

Wally hurries off after him.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
 

Wally isn’t sure if they’re allowed to, and Bruce is either distracted elsewhere - possibly by Alfred - or has simply given up on stopping them. Through some small miracle, Dick sneaks Wally into the garage and hands him his spare helmet. They always kept it around for him, right on the shelf next to Dick’s own. 

Dick gets on the bike with a look of slight trepidation, but it melts away as soon as he mounts it. Something sparks to life inside his skin and Wally thinks he looks different all of a sudden. Warmer. He gets on behind him, hesitates at first to put his arms around him when Dick grabs his wrist and puts it on his waist.

He revs the engine and they’re off in an instant. The air rushes around them like a stream, grabbing at their clothes, coldly nipping at exposed skin. Dick goes maybe a bit over the speed limit, and maybe Wally’s a little bit worried, but Dick doesn’t push him away when his grip tightens and Dick’s back is warm against him. There is something comforting in that.

He doesn’t know how long they’re driving for. The afternoon sun has settled into a low evening orange, stretching lazily across the horizon. Dick drives into small roads, narrow passages and rural neighborhoods until Gotham disappears in the peripheral.

By the time they stop it’s almost dark. Dick hops off the bike, leaving it leaning by the side of the road. They watch the sea lull calm and tired in front of them. The salty smell of the shore lies thick in the air and Wally’s skin feels sticky with humidity.

‘’Twinkletoes! You coming or not?’’ Dick’s already trotted along down the sand dune, looking at him over his shoulder.

With the helmet under his arm, Wally hurries off down after him. Sneakers quickly fill with sand and he kicks them off as soon as they’ve sat down. The sand is cold to sit on, even if Dick has put his jacket down.

‘’Dude, if I’d known we were having a beach trip –‘’ Wally watches a cascade of sand fall from his shoe as he turns it over.

Dick says nothing. The night is cold, and he’s slightly shivering, despite the woolen jumper. Wally studies his face, eyes far away, as they so often are lately. He looks different, somehow, like a decision has been made. It’s only now Wally realizes Dick’s been avoiding his eyes.

‘’Why didn’t you tell me?’’

‘’Tell you what?’’

Dick knows, and Wally knows. A spark in Wally’s eyes flickers with annoyance.

‘’Don’t play stupid with me, man’’

Dick’s face burns hot and sticky, sweat crawling down his skin, his heart going faster and faster until hurts. Wally’s hands clench and unclench in a need to _do_ something. There’s only inches between them but the distance feels impossibly wide.

‘’You must think I’m such an idiot’’

Dick glances at him with a frown. Wally’s teeth are grit tight and his fists trembling, he barely restrains himself from punching something. There is clear strain and anger in his voice when he speaks again.

‘’I guess I just wanted to believe the best’’ Wally says. ‘’Instead I just let you down _again_ ’’

Dick looks at him in confusion. ‘’You let _me_ down?’’

‘’I’m your best friend!’’ Wally’s voice goes high pitched, hands gesturing helplessly. ‘’I should’ve known something was wrong! I mean, I could tell something was _wrong_ but I… I don’t know, maybe I just didn’t want to think…’’

Dick is struggling to find his breath. He fists the cold sand just to have something to anchor him. He doesn’t want to see the rejection he knows is coming, doesn’t want to have it _confirmed_ that he’s nothing, anymore. Just some used up garbage that no one wants to deal with anymore, but he knows he can’t turn away. There’s only so far to run before hitting a dead end.

‘’Dude’’ And then Wally surprises him. ‘’I’m so sorry’’

‘’ _Sorry_?’’

‘’I – I should’ve –‘’ Wally groans in frustration. ‘’If I had been there from the beginning, if I’d had your back, you wouldn’t – if I’d looked harder I could’ve _found_ you’’

Dick feels like he’s just stepped off a carousel and landed in a completely different world.

‘’What are you _talking_ about?’’

‘’I messed up and you got hurt and I’m _sorry_ ’’ Wally looks at him. ‘’You gotta know that, Dick’’

Dick blinks. Isn’t quite sure what to say but Wally is looking at him with such open, raw honesty, it hurts to meet his gaze but he feels like he owes it to him.

‘’Talk to me, man’’ Wally says in a low voice. ‘’I couldn’t help you then but I… I wanna have your back this time’’

‘’Talk about what?’’

‘’You _know_ what’’

Dick looks down at his hands again, his face burning.

‘’Dude’’ Wally is closer now and he has no idea when he did that, if he used his speed or if Dick just isn’t aware, too stuffed away inside his own chaos to notice. ‘’You drove us out here for a reason’’

Dick breathes in shakily. His palms are tingling. He isn’t sure what he was thinking. Just that he needed to go somewhere, get out, far away from the mansion where he’d been suffocating for months and months. He needed to go somewhere where Wally could ask questions that are difficult to answer.

 ‘’What do you want to know?’’ Dick’s voice is small and defeated. Not at all the bouncing, lively voice of a kid with too much damn energy for his own good sometimes. But rather that of someone on the verge of giving up.

Wally doesn’t even know what he wants. Hasn’t thought that far, really, beyond the urge to do something.

‘’What are you thinking?’’

‘’I…’’  Dick stares piercingly at the sea. ‘’I’m thinking if I tell you and you don’t… I can’t take it back, once I say it, it’s ….’’ He sighs as he finally forces himself to meet Wally’s gaze. ‘’It’s like there’s a … a grime, on me, constantly. I – I shower and it doesn’t go away. I scrub, I wash, I change my clothes five times a day sometimes and I –‘’ Dick lets out a long, shaky breath. ‘’Everything I touch, it… It gets grimy too’’

Wally searches his face with concern. Dick buries his face in his hand, pinching his eyes together hard. He’s not going to cry, not now, not here, not in front of Wally. He’s seen enough of that already.

‘’Whatever you think I’m thinking about you, you’re wrong’’

‘’I should’ve stopped them’’

  
Wally’s heart goes cold. M’gann hasn’t told them anything but she’s been shaken up badly, hasn’t stopped crying, Dinah had to talk to her and Wally knows whatever she’s seen was terrible. He just hadn’t wanted to, couldn’t bring himself to imagine it. Maybe that makes him a coward.

‘’C’mon, man, don’t talk like that’’

Dick draws in a sharp breath, on the verge of hyperventilating.  
What if there aren’t the right words? What if there’s nothing that can be done? It might always hurt like this.

Wally sighs. ‘’Just help me understand’’

Who would touch him? Who would want to? Something resigned lies over his face, and it’s half relieving, half unsettling. Getting inside his walls has never been easy, even for Wally, but this time it feels almost pyrrhic. He hopes it will be like realigning bone, breaking it so that it can properly heal, and not just like destroying something.

‘’I used to come here with Alfred when I was little’’ Dick says and it’s difficult to hear him over the sound of waves. ‘’Before the whole dynamic duo thing, Bruce wasn’t home much and… Alfred would drive us out here. We’d collect sea shells mostly’’

Wally gives him a lopsided smile.

‘’So you’ve always been a geek’’

Dick looks at him half offended. It takes him a while to realize it’s a joke.

‘’Look’’ Wally sighs. ‘’I wish I could change things, I wish you wouldn’t have to carry this. But you _do_ , so – just let people help you’’

‘’Does the team know?’’ His voice sounds thick, as if pushing back tears.

Wally is quiet for a moment. ‘’Yeah’’

‘’Shit’’

‘’They all just wanna know you’re okay’’

‘’I’m not’’

‘’Well, obviously, but, you know’’ Wally huffs. He’s not entirely sure what to say after that. Dick remains more stoic than ever before, shoulders uselessly hunched together to protect him from harm.

‘’You  really don’t care?’’ Dick says after a long and dreadful silence.

‘’Dude’’ Wally grabs his hand without thinking. Dick flinches in surprise, tries to draw it back before Wally looks at him in a way that doesn’t make him feel so threatened. Instead the touch becomes almost comforting, so much like a burning at the back of his head, a yearning to be touched still intervowen with fear.

‘’The only thing I find disgusting about you is that you eat cereal out of the box and put ketchup on your instant noodles’’

Dick isn’t quite sure what to do. Isn’t sure what to feel as emotions swell and fill his chest, almost to the point of breaking. There are just so many things he’s held at an arm’s length. For a year the dark things that live inside him have crowded together and only now has there been a crack large enough for it all to spill over. Dick doesn’t even bother not to cry this time, but lets the sobs out free and unrestrained. His whole body shakes, his breath stumbling clumsily over the tightness in his chest and he feels and looks like an utterly miserable bastard of a human being. 

‘’Hey, come on!’’ Wally lightly puts his arm around his shoulder. ‘’I can’t lie to you, man, best friend rules’’

Dick half sobs, half laughs uncertainly, burying his face in Wally’s clavicle.

‘’Real talk, man, nobody thinks anything bad about you. Promise’’ Wally says gently. ‘’The only one who's disgusting is the bastard that did this to you’’

Sobs punctuate the silence like blood pulses from a raw and open wound.

‘’It’s alright, buddy.'' Wally squeezes his shoulder. ''Let it all out. I'm not going anywhere’’

Dick keeps crying but doesn’t quite mind. Every hot, salty tear that burns his eyes, seems to take some of the aching with it. It still grinds against his ribs, nestled in like a thorn, flaring up at the wrong move, but it’s smaller, somehow. Easier to carry, though heavy, it is no longer the weight of a world.

Wally lets him cry in silence. The waves sweep slowly over the sand.


	33. Chapter 33

He stands faithfully by the batsignal, as so many nights before. His breath comes out in puffs of steam, cold April nights not yet giving way for summer’s warmer darkness. To top it all off rain is softly beating down on the roof; a steady chorus of drops hitting windows and tin tiles manage to drown out the sounds of his clattering heart.

 As always, they startle him.  
   
‘’Commissioner’’ Batman says by way of greeting.  


‘’Batman’’ he nods in acknowledgment, looking relieved. When his eyes fall on Robin they momentarily light up. ‘’It’s good to see you, Robin’’  
 

Robin gives him a stretched smile. It’s awkward looking, like it doesn’t quite fit his mouth. Gordon tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest.  
 

‘’Sorry to leave you longing, commish’’  
 

Gordon motions towards the door leading back into the building.  
 

‘’It’s raining, shall we go inside?’’  
 

Robin looks at Batman, hair dropping wet with rainwater. Batman isn’t too concerned, as his suit provides coverage, while Robin looks like a halfway drowned cat.  
 

Gordon gives Batman a secretive look over his glasses.  
 

‘’ _Alone_ , if you don’t mind’’  
 

Batman’s jaw tenses. Robin feels his heart freeze, tension spreading between the two like a shared headache.

   
‘’I’m sure you can appreciate my concern with that, commissioner’’

   
‘’That’s… understandable, giving everything, but I’m afraid I must insist’’  
 

Gordon and Batman share a long, stubborn stare. A silent fight takes place between them, spoken without words, without voices, but just as loud as the rain. Robin’s heart sinks into the pit of his stomach when he sees the look on Batman’s face change.  
 

‘’I’ll be back in an hour’’ He simply says. Gordon nods and just like that, Batman is gone.  
 

His absence sinks into Robin like a knife. Within seconds panic is surging through his veins like acid. As Gordon walks towards the door leading into the maws of the police station, he realizes he’s been holding his breath.  
 

‘’Shall we?’’  
 

‘’Age before beauty’’ Robin forces a smirk to his lips.  
 

They both ignore the tremor in his voice.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘’Can I offer you a drink? Tea? Cocoa? Soda pop?’’ 

  
Gordon closes the door after him, watching as Robin leaves a trail of water across the scuffed floor. He tried to wring the cape out, but it’s so saturated with water it seems a Sisyphean task at this point. Robin awkwardly plops himself down in a chair and hopes it won’t ruin the leather. 

  
‘’So… what can I do for you, commish?’’  
  


Gordon hesitates. He goes to sit down in his desk chair, slowly, like a man with a bad back. He can feel Robin watching him intently and though he puts on a good show of being jovial, there is something fabricated about it. A tension slowly crawls under his skin as he looks the boy over.

  
‘’I just wanted to see how you’ve been holding up’’

  
‘’Ah’’ Robin’s smile turns sour. A long stretch of silence goes by before he speaks again. ‘’Just peachy’’  
 

‘’I understand it must have been a hard year for you, given the… circumstances’’  
 

Robin tries and fails not to grit his teeth.  
 

‘’I just had to deal with some… business. Elsewhere’’  
 

Lights from the corridor reflect in Gordon’s glasses, shielding his eyes and his face remains unreadable. Robin tries to remember how to breathe.

   
‘’I just wanted to thank you for your help with the Grayson case’’ Robin doesn’t flinch, but his face twitches. It’s not much and had Gordon not been looking for it he probably wouldn’t have noticed. ‘’I understand you’ve had some time off and, well, you took some time out of your … schedule, and we all appreciate it’’  
 

Robin frowns. ‘’We?’’  
 

‘’The other officers think you’ve done a great job, and I agree. Without you the kid wouldn’t have made it’’  
 

Something cold spreads through his body, squeezing his stomach and leaving him numb. He swallows to try and mask the metallic taste in his mouth.  
 

‘’Just doing my job, commish. Sorry I couldn’t help with the…’’ He waves his hand, trailing off.  
 

‘’The copycats?’’ Gordon sighs. ‘’Nobody blames you. After everything, no one could ask that you return to the field so soon. If at all’’  
 

Robin looks at him, a sharp heat coloring his face.  
 

‘’I can _handle_ it’’ He regrets snapping as soon as the words leave his mouth. He feels the intense scrutiny increase and has to stop himself from shrinking under Gordon’s gaze.  
 

 ‘’Of course, of course’’ Gordon shifts in his seat. ‘’No one is doubting that’’  
 

The two sit in uncomfortable silence after that. Gordon studies him, noting his thinner frame, the longer hair, the strained voice. Besides that he remains largely the same, except something about his posture. Something small and tight, like a string pulled too far, waiting to snap at any given moment.  
 

‘’Commissioner?’’ The door opens to reveal a stressed Montoya. ‘’Oh, sorry, I wasn’t aware you had…  guests’’  
 

Robin turns over the backrest to flash her a grin.  
 

‘’Hey, Montoya! How’s it going? How’s your girlfriend?’’  
 

‘’Just fine’’ Montoya blinks at him, as if staring at a ghost. ‘’How have _you_ been?’’  
 

Robin’s jaws tense. He puts considerate effort into not sounding defensive, but traces still remain.  
 

‘’Same old’’  
 

‘’Uh huh’’ She takes a moment to collect herself, not looking at all convinced but also knowing well enough where the line is. ‘’Great job on the Grayson thing, by the way’’  
 

Robin swallows. ‘’Yeah?’’  
 

‘’Yeah’’ Montoya says earnestly. ‘’Couldn’t have made it without you. Everyone’s really happy you showed up’’  
 

 ‘’Too bad I couldn’t help you out with the rest of ‘em’’ He doesn’t even try to hide the bitterness this time. If Montoya picks up on it she does a good show of pretending otherwise.  
 

‘’I’m sure you had your own things to deal with’’ She points at him. ‘’You be good, okay? Commissioner, I just wanted to talk to you about that robber case, but it can wait’’  
 

‘’Alright, Montoya’’ Gordon adjusts his glasses. ‘’I’ll get to it as soon as I’m done here, thank you’’  
 

Montoya retreats back behind the door, hand still on the handle as she glances at Robin.  
 

‘’It’s good to see you’’ She says, eyes lingering on him just long enough to make him uncomfortable.  
 

He clears his throat.  
 

‘’Pleasure to be seen’’  
 

Montoya shoots him a small smile before she disappears into the station again, shutting the door quietly behind her.  
 

Gordon sighs and stares at the door. The two of them say nothing and Robin is almost starting to feel forgotten. He’s just about to get up and leave when Gordon speaks again.  
 

‘’Let me show you something’’  
 

He gets out of his chair and wanders over to one of many filing cabinets. He opens the top drawer and starts sorting through its contents. Robin is too stupefied to realize he’s expected to join him, and not until Gordon impatiently motions for him does he have the presence of mind to do so.  
 

‘’I’ve been given these’’ The drawer is, on closer inspection, full to the brim with various cards, letters and what looks like children’s drawings. ‘’They’ve been coming in ever since, well…’’  
 

‘’The Grayson case’’ Robin can’t help but snarl. ‘’What _is_ all this?’’  
 

‘’Thank you letters, mostly. Some drawings of you. Some drawings of Batman’’ Jim picks one up and chuckles. ‘’This one’s my favorite’’  
 

It’s a crude crayon drawing of Batman, with Robin smiling next to his side. Behind them is a backdrop of shooting stars and the poorly scribbled approximations of words from a child. There’s a colorful bubble encasing the word _KA-POW!_ above their heads.  
 

‘’There’s buckets of it. People send them here so I can forward it to you, but, well, you don’t exactly have a PO box. Plus you’ve been gone for some time …’’  
 

Robin visibly tenses.  
 

‘’Which is _fine’’_ Gordon hurries to add. ‘’As I said, no one blames you! Personally I’d rather you take some time away from all of this for a while’’  
 

Robin grinds his teeth together while the two stand staring at the drawing. No one says a word until Gordon shatters the silence with a tired exhale.  
 

‘’Robin, are you happy with this… this job?’’  
 

Robin doesn’t know what to say, but the words come as by their own. Pulled out of him like a string he’s swallowed, tearing through his body on the way out, they leave him feeling raw and ripped open.  
 

‘’Happier than I’ve been in a long time’’  
 

That gaping ache in his chest, the cavity left behind, makes itself more apparent than it’s been in months, echoing and burning as he studies the drawing in Gordon’s hands.  
 

‘’Are you seeing anyone? A therapist, I mean’’  
 

Robin momentarily forgets what he’s talking about. Then he remembers; torture, PTSD, all that jazz. The awareness that the entire Gotham precinct knows his dirty laundry is enough to make him feel ill.  
 

‘’Yeah, yeah’’ Robin says, somewhat distantly. ‘’We’ve got people for that sort of thing’’  
 

‘’Good’’ Gordon nods. ‘’Good, good…’’  
 

‘’Listen, this whole Grayson thing, I – ‘’ Robin stutters. ‘’I wish I could have been there for the aftermath’’  
 

‘’No, don’t’’ Gordon gives him a tender look of fatherly forgiveness. ‘’Nobody blames you. And… nobody blames Dick Grayson’’  
 

Robin frowns.  ‘’What do you mean?’’  
 

‘’He couldn’t have known that was going to happen’’ Gordon’s stare feels haunting, cutting through his skin, revealing glistening flesh and open wounds he’d much rather leave forgotten. ‘’Understandably, he probably wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. I’m sure he must be feeling terribly guilty about it’’  
 

‘’Uh… yeah’’ He tries to act like he isn’t sweating furiously. ‘’Who wouldn’t?’’  
 

The door opens again and Gordon is visibly annoyed this time. Getting ready to shout at the intruder, he calms himself when he sees Montoya’s face again. ‘’Yes, Officer?’’  
 

‘’Sorry to interrupt but I need to borrow Robin for a minute’’  
 

Robin and Gordon both look at her in trepidation.  
 

‘’For what?’’ They say at the same time.  
 

She smiles tiredly at them. ‘’Just got some guys in the office that want to meet him’’  
 

‘’Oh’’ Gordon looks at Robin, seeming suddenly off balance. ‘’Okay, uh… Robin?’’  
 

Robin’s throat tightens like a vice. Torn between staying with Gordon and his heavy, oppressive concern or going to an unknown doom with Montoya, his heart starts to beat faster.  
 

Cops have never liked Batman in the past and though they seem a bit warmer on Robin, it always makes him a little nervous being alone with them. In the past he’d have been bolder, knowing he can escape at a moment’s notice, but even with the smoke bombs in his belt he isn’t so sure of his abilities this time.  
 

He opens his mouth to answer but Montoya has already made the decision for him.  
 

‘’Great! Come on, before they get impatient!’’

 

* * *

 

 

‘’Robin!’’  
  
Officers immediately look up from their desks, halting their watercooler conversations and putting down their pens. Coffee mugs stop half-way to mouths, sandwiches pause mid-bite and Robin feels like the centre of the universe.  
 

‘’Hey, kid!’’ Bullock waves at him. ‘’Surprised to see you still alive!’’  
 

Montoya sends him a lethal glare. ‘’Shut up, Bullock!’’  
 

‘’What?! We ain’t seen him in months!’’  
 

‘’It’s been a rough year’’ Robin admits, trying his hardest not to fidget.  
 

Acutely aware of the many eyes staring at him, like prey circling him, badges glisten like the talons of a predator. He puffs up his chest and tries to appear bigger.  
 

‘’How you doing, kid?’’ An officer he doesn’t recognize shouts from his desk.  
 

Bullock huddles over to them to give Robin a big, friendly pat on the back. Robin tenses up immediately, but the large hand has already knocked his spine halfway down his body. Or so it feels, anyway. Possibly sensing his anxiety, Montoya pushes Bullock harshly to the side, separating the two of them with her own body.  
 

‘’Give the kid some space, you big oaf’’  
 

Bullock looks at her like he’s just been wrongly accused of a crime. He glances at Robin and something about his face must be betraying his panic, as the officer suddenly looks sheepish.  
 

‘’Uh, right, uh, sorry, kiddo’’  
 

‘’It’s fine’’ Robin says. His voice does nothing to support this statement.  
 

‘’You back to working now?’’ Bullock fumbles to change subject. ‘’S’bout time, you’ve been forcing us to do our actual jobs down here!’’  
 

A chorus of murmurs and chuckles concur.  
 

‘’Really, it’s good to see ya, kid’’ Bullock looks like he’s about to pat him again, but stops himself, hand hovering awkwardly between them.  
 

Robin gives him a weak high-five.  
 

‘’I’m surprised to see there’s still a Gotham’’ Robin fakes a thin smirk and it seems to light some sort of fire in the room.  
 

Officers immediately start chattering, talking about the latest escapades of the Gotham rogues. The Penguin’s recent tax fraud – and how he bribed himself out of it again – along with the capture of Scarecrow for a crime he doesn’t quite catch. Poison Ivy’s been released and they’ve all kept their eyes open, but other than that, murder rates have barely gone up, so it’s what the officers would call a good quarterly report.  
 

Inevitably, despite painfully obvious efforts to skirt around it, some officer mentions the breakout.  
 

There is something so surreal about hearing about his friends like this, from the mouths of officers, regaling their story like squires of knights in old legends. A story that feels so achingly familiar that he is forced to watch like a neutral observer.  
 

The Joker, the ‘sidekicks’, Belle Rêve, Batman, Catwoman – and _him_. It’s all told to him as if he had no idea, as if he was a spectator far removed from the actual happenings of the past few months. Like the sound of the man’s name wasn’t like cold water to his skin, like the memory of feeling unsafe didn’t creep on him like spiders, biting into his flesh. As if it was all just a job to him.  
 

‘’Hey’’ Bullock says, noticing Robin’s hands clench. ‘’Those psychopaths are rotting in Blackgate where they belong’’  
 

‘’Huh?’’ Robin stares at him, having lost himself again, almost habitually.  
 

‘’Those freaks are never getting out of there as long as they live’’ He stares at Robin with an unreadable intent, but he gets the strong, overwhelming feeling that he’s supposed to feel something. Safe? Comforted? As if collars and steel and the cold, icy water of the Gotham river ever meant anything.  
 

‘’We may not all be too keen on capes –‘’ One officer says. ‘’—but ain’t no one here ever gonna let ‘em get away with torturing a kid’’  
 

Robin feels ice cold. His teeth grind down to keep him from screaming, the edges of the room suddenly blurry and it becomes too difficult to tell all the sounds apart.  
  


‘’I swear –‘’ Bullock says, quietly, as if only meant for him. ‘’If any of us got a hold of them, we would all be in prison’’   
  


Robin stares at him in shocked silence. The numbness in his chest has spread throughout his fingers and he’s no longer sure if he’s awake or dreaming. Lights dim, sounds are muffled as if heard through cotton and his body remains upright seemingly by its own means  
  


‘’I think that’s enough for now’’ Montoya says and a chorus of displeased _aw_ s ring through the room. ‘’Okay, okay, calm down, don’t get starstruck! Kid’s got things to do, and I’m sure you all have _work_ to get to’’  
 

Officers grumble dismissively, but have enough wits not to argue with her.  
 

‘’Hey, Robin!’’ An officer flashes him a thumbs up. ‘’We’re rootin’ for ya’’  
 

He has no presence of mind to manage a response, other than a slow, hesitant thumbs up. The officer grins at him as Robin lets Montoya gently usher him out of the room.  
 

‘’No one would blame you if you just up and left’’ she says once they’ve been walking through the corridors for a while. Robin almost doesn’t hear her, too busy trying to climb back into his body, regaining some semblance of control over his own brain. ‘’Most of the force can’t believe Batman still lets you do this crap’’  
 

Officers greet him as they pass, some concerned, some happy. He nods and waves, but has no idea what to say to them, or to her. Before he knows it, Montoya’s already returned him to Gordon’s office. She stares at him for a moment, eyes dark with unreadable emotions, though there is unmistakable warmth to her face.  
 

 ‘’You stay fightin’, alright?’’  
 

Robin swallows against the dryness of his throat.  
 

‘’I’ll try’’  
  
She gives him a gentle smile before knocking on the door. It soon opens, revealing Gordon with a mug in his hand.  
  


‘’All yours, sir’’  
 

‘’Thank you, Montoya’’ He manages a wry smile. The lines around his eyes seem deeper than Robin remembers. ‘’I’ll take it from here’’  
 

‘’Alright’’ She nods at him, then looks at Robin one last time. ‘’You be good, okay?’’  
 

Robin nods. ‘’See you around’’  
 

She gives him a small wave and disappears down the corridor. They both watch her leave in silence, before Gordon beckons him inside the office.  
 

‘’I believe your mentor is on the roof’’ he says, getting his coat from the hanger by the door. ‘’Suppose he doesn’t like me wasting your time for too long’’  
 

Robin’s head is still soft, fuzzy, like he hasn’t slept in days.  Everything from the feel of his gloves to the creaking of the floor seems far away, unreal somehow. He takes a deep breath and tries to find something to anchor him, some sort of detail or sensation he can cling onto, like a weight to tie down a floating balloon.  
 

‘’Commissioner’’ he says, seeing the cabinet with the drawings. ‘’Can I…’’  
 

He trails off and Gordon gives him a concerned look. He follows his gaze to the file cabinet, and something seems to dawn on him then.  He takes the drawing he had shown him earlier and holds it out to him like it was something precious.  
 

‘’Keep it’’ he says, and Robin just stares at him. ‘’I think it’s stopped raining now, so there shouldn’t be any risk of it getting ruined’’  
 

Robin quietly takes the drawing in his hands, staring at the glistening lines of crayon. Of blacks and blues and reds, stark yellow against cheap paper. He folds it gently and tucks it into a compartment of his belt.  
 

‘’Alright’’ Gordon says, the corner of his mouth turned ever so slightly upwards. ‘’Let’s not keep the big guy waiting’’

 

* * *

 

 

Batman’s waiting for them on the roof, hunched like a dark shadow against the neon skyline of Gotham. The sky is dark red with pollution, clouds shielding the moon, the only light coming from the city below. 

 

‘’I won’t keep him any longer’’ Gordon says as he stops by the batsignal. ‘’He’s all yours’’  
  


Batman’s eyes remain on Robin as he joins his mentor’s side, perched on the edge of the roof like a smaller, less menacing ghoul of the night. If his face betrays his inner anxieties, Batman makes no mention of it.  
 

‘’Robin, go ahead to the meeting point. I believe the commissioner would like a word with me’’  
  
Robin glances uncertainly at Batman, then at Gordon, the commissioner’s face hard and full of intent. He doesn’t want to leave, but knows well there is no choice.  
 

‘’See ya, commish’’ He says with a wave.  
 

Gordon gives him a small wave of his own. ‘’Take care, Robin’’  
 

Robin shares a quick look with Batman, that uncertainty in his stomach still weighing cold and heavy, before he takes a deep breath and leaps off the building.  
 

‘’Batman’’  
 

Once Robin is out of sight, Gordon takes a step closer. The two men stand in silence. Words seem so unnecessary when they both know what the other wants to have said.  
 

Gordon brings his pipe to his mouth and, after stomping some tobacco down into it, strikes a match.  
 

‘’Take care of the boy’’  
 

The fire lights up his face, making him look sharp and old.  
 

‘’I try to’’  
 

Batman gets his grappling hook out and, within Gordon’s first puff of tobacco, leaps off into the night. Gordon sighs into the cold air, watching his breath steam up and dissipate.  
 

Behind tall, dark skyscrapers the morning sun starts to rise.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey sorry for the delays lately, life is BUSY. Lots of stuff going on lately but I've got some time off coming up so will get actual time to sit down and write, whew.
> 
> Thanks for your patience!

Robin looks out over the city, holding onto the ledge with a tight grip. He knows there is a tracker on him and he knows Batman would be here in a second if he even slipped a millimeter off the edge. It’s not that he even _wants_ to think about it, but his head refuses to let go of the idea that he _could_. It would be so, so easy, just to slip, if he wanted to.

He’s ripped from his thoughts by the crackling of his earpiece. His body goes cold as he realizes the secure team communication line has just been opened.

‘’ _KF to team! If anyone’s got a minute, I’d appreciate –‘’_

‘’KF? Everything alright?’’

‘’ _Dude! What the hell! Why are you on this line?_ _Are you on patrol? Are you back to working? Why didn’t you tell me you_ –‘’

Robin swallows, ignoring his heart’s erratic flips. ‘’No, it’s not a mission, just needed to show the police I’m still alive’’

‘’ _You’re at the Police station_?’’

‘’Yeah, you know, disappear for almost a year and people start wondering’’

A loud howling as if from a strong wind cuts through the static. It’s only now he realizes Wally is half-shouting.

‘’Dude, everything okay over there?’’

‘’ _Don’t worry about me! Are_ you _okay?_ ’’

Robin rolls his eyes even though the other can’t see it. ‘’It’s fine’’

‘’ _You know I can tell when you’re lying_ ’’

‘’This isn’t exactly a … ‘ _portune_ moment to talk about it’’

‘’ _Why?’’_ Wally shouts over the wind. _‘’You busy with bat stuff?_ ’’

‘’I’ll tell you later’’ Robin glances down at the streets below. His heart skips a beat. They all look so small down there. ‘’Promise’’

‘’ _I’ll hold you to that, hot pants!_ ’’

He backs away from the ledge, almost tripping in the process. Catching himself just on time, Robin lets out a heavy breath he hadn’t noticed holding.

‘’So – uh –‘’ He takes a moment to collect himself. ‘’What’s the emergency?’’

‘’ _Huh? Oh, nothing, just been having a crazy, unexplained blizzard!_ ’’

‘’Blizzard? Where? In Keystone?’’

‘’ _Biggest in sixty years! Roads are a mess so me and uncle Barry are helping the rescue teams but even for us it’s hard to keep up_ ’’

Robin frowns. A headache pounds inside his temples as he tries to focus on the conversation, anything to distract himself. ‘’You think Captain Cold is behind it?’’

‘’ _I dunno, man, Cold’s in prison but … I wouldn’t rule it out. We’re still investigating though_ ’’

‘’Well, maybe you could use some help from the world’s greatest detective’’

‘’ _It’s cool, dude! I was just putting out a feeler, you know, but we can handle it for now. I think Captain Marvel and Tornado are heading over to help_ ’’

He’s only half listening, far too distracted by the screaming wind pulling at his cape and his hair, almost beckoning. The sheer distance between him and the ground hits him like a hammer and he has to steady himself as he’s washed over by a wave of nausea.

‘’ _Hey, dude, you think Batman would let you out here?_ ’’ Wally’s voice pulls him back into the real world.

Robin huffs. ‘’He barely lets me leave the mansion’’

There is that tension in his muscles, like a beast waiting to pounce; every fiber, every nerve ending on fire with anticipation and dread.

‘’ _Okay, I gotta go, there’s a semi that’s derailed but uh – Catch up later, okay?’’_

‘’Okay’’

The line is dead within seconds. In the absence of static he feels the roaring of the wind and the cold of the morning all the more imposing. He cranes his neck to see if there’s any movement from the roof, if Batman’s coming to get him the hell out of here and back home, where he can throw the damn suit off him, tear it off like a second, burning skin.

When he saw the suit he had been hyperventilating. Putting on the gloves almost made him throw up as memories of broken bones bombarded him. He wasn’t even sure he would make it into the Batmobile, but through some small miracle he managed. He had a bag to throw up in but didn’t even need it. The entire ride over his heart beat so hard, so fast, he thought it might break.

Every skyscraper looked like impossibly tall mountains to him. His knees were actually shaking; it was ridiculous, really. Something he had spent years training for, something he was _born_ to do, making him tremble like a scared child.

The moment they took out their grapple hooks, something inside of him ignited. In _spite_ of things, he grabbed the line. In _spite_ of his panic, he swung through the air. In spite of the vomit threatening, pushing, constantly at the edge of his throat, he scaled that first building.

The body, for good and bad, remembers.

Staring out over the cityscape, wind tousling his hair, he was no longer afraid. It was just for a moment. A short, fragile moment before he realized where he was and what he was _doing._ For a split second he had found respite; it had felt like coming home. But bad things happened in that suit.

And the body, for good and bad, _remembers_.

It’s so easy to lose everything he spent years building up. The comfort of falling, the pride of his work; being side by side with Bruce, with his friends, and knowing he could make a difference. Being truly free and, while not always courageous, sometimes afraid, never lost or abandoned.

There was strength in that, a freedom and happiness, a _purpose_ which is indescribable and irreplaceable.

Now with the sun rising behind the buildings, birthing another day, something deep inside him aches.

 ‘’Let’s go home’’

Batman has appeared out of thin air, but he’s so deep in thought it barely startles him.

‘’Robin?’’ Batman’s face doesn’t change, but his voice is colored by a hint of concern. ‘’Are you alright?’’

‘’I’m fine’’ Robin says, still staring at the city.

Batman stands quietly for a while.

‘’What about Gordon?’’

‘’He’s concerned’’ Batman says.

Robin nods with a thoughtful hum.

‘’Let’s go’’ Batman says a bit more urgently. ‘’It’s getting bright’’

He takes his grapple hook out. It takes Robin a bit longer to do the same, the hook feeling heavy and surreal in his hand. He walks towards the edge with heavy steps, feeling Batman’s intense stare.

‘’Ready?’’ He says.

Robin takes a deep breath.

''Ready''

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dick moves on the pull up bar. Sweat dripping, muscles twitching, his breath is the only thing louder than his heart. Every creak of the bar and its bolts echoes through the basement. He pulls himself up, around, lets go of the bar just quick enough to reverse his grip and repeat the movement all over again.

He repeats the cycle five more times and lands on the floor with a soft thud. He lets out a deep breath through his nose, hands aching from the strain. Roy doesn’t seem to mind the chalk getting everywhere.

‘’So I heard you put on the suit’’

Dick sits back on the floor and bends out in a long stretch. Folding over his leg he grabs his foot and breathes.

‘’Does it still fit?’’ Roy leans against the barbell, wiping sweat from his forehead with a sort of cheeky grin that was only half-sincere.

‘’Don’t you have squatting to do?’’

Dick folds over his other leg. He’s lost so much strength, what little sporadic training he’s maintained seems to have lessened the effects of his self-imposed exile, but it hurts. His muscles are too stiff, too weak, the calluses on his hands have softened and his lungs have to fight harder for air.

The movements are still buried somewhere inside his bones, but scaling buildings and swinging between skyscrapers has left his body sore for days.

‘’So?’’ Roy looks at him like he wants to say something, but can’t quite find the words.

Dick rises into a bridge pose with a frown, looking at Roy from upside down. ‘’So what?’’

‘’So are you back on duty?’’

Dick sighs irritably. ‘’As if Bruce would let me’’

‘’It’s not about Bruce’’

Dick takes a deep breath through his nostrils before pushing himself back up on his feet. He stretches his arms high to the ceiling, feeling a crack in his back.

‘’What’s the point?’’ Dick scoffs bitterly. He picks his hoodie off from the floor where he’d strewn it before, pulling it over his head as a means to avoid Roy’s scrutinizing gaze.

Roy stares at him even as he unloads the plates from the barbell. ‘’You have to make the decision sooner or later’’

Dick puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs. ‘’I didn’t come here to get lectured, Roy’’

‘’So why did you come here?’’

They stare at each other in tired silence. Roy cracks open a can of energy drink, rummaging through a cupboard for snacks.

‘’I don’t know’’ Dick says, so long after the fact Roy almost forgot what they were talking about. He looks at Dick over his shoulder and throws him a bag of chips.

‘’I just…’’ Dick catches it easily. ‘’I needed to do something, I needed to _move_ , I…’’

‘’Spit it out, boy wonder,  I don’t have all day’’

Dick glares at him but there is understanding in Roy’s face. Something about his unguarded appearance makes him want to tell him, makes him want to talk and be honest even though he isn’t sure what Roy could  actually do about anything.

‘’I just needed to make sure I could still _do_ something. That I hadn’t lost it’’ Dick crinkles the bag in his hands, stomach twisting together, he has no will to eat it, but knows Roy won’t let him leave unfed.

‘’Putting on the suit again, going out with Batman – even if it was just for a night, just to prove to the police that I’m still alive –‘’ Dick sighs. ‘’It took Bruce a half hour to get me to stop hyperventilating and I was -- - _terrified –_ but as soon as I was out there, as soon as I was flying between buildings, by Bruce’s side, I remembered…’’ He looks up at Roy, eyes clear with emotions. An earnest ache that looks brutal and fragile and grotesque. ‘’I remembered why I became Robin in the first place’’

Roy gives him a thoughtful look before speaking. ‘’So what’s stopping you now?’’

Dick sighs. This time he avoids Roy’s eyes, hands crushing the chips inside the bag, balled up into white, trembling fists.

 ‘’They took that from me’’ He whispers. ‘’They took it away from me and I didn’t… Didn’t do _anything_ to stop it’’

Roy is in front of him now, closer than most people but still somehow not too threatening; he is more of a presence than an imposition. Something about him forces Dick to meet his eyes.

‘’Again’’ Roy says, not at all gently but without the usual edge. ‘’What’s stopping you?’’

Dick stumbles on his breath, his chest aching like a bad sprain. Like a wound at the back of his throat, a scab he can’t stop picking before it ever has a chance to heal.

‘’What are you waiting for?’’

‘’Robin was _mine_ , Robin…’’ He starts to breathe faster, eyes darting back and forth, his face tightening flushed red. ‘’Robin was the only thing that made _sense_ ’’

‘’Robin helped you feel in control of something uncontrollable’’

‘’I had _nothing_ ’’ Dick rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand. ‘’I lost… _so_ much and … and when I wore the cape, there was something. I was doing something concrete and – and real and maybe I couldn’t kill evil but I could… I could make a difference. At least I thought I could’’

Roy considers touching him in some effort of comfort, but his own limbs refuse to move.

 ‘’It’s not fair’’ Dick mumbles through grit teeth, trying to hold his emotions at bay. All the grief and rage that have been feeding on him, eating away for months and months until there is little left but an open, rotting wound. ‘’It’s not god damn _fair!_ ’’

‘’You’re right, it’s _not_.’’ Roy says.  ‘’So what are you going to _do_ about it?’’

‘’I…’’

He looks at Roy with glassy eyes; close to tears but not near enough. Roy tastes the hopeless anger in the air, senses the despair and the hatred like electricity against his skin.

‘’I’m going to Keystone city with the team later’’ He says, just like that. ‘’Consider it an open invitation’’

Dick stares at his sweat covered chest and the worn out AC/DC t-shirt.

‘’I can’t’’ Dick says, but feels like he doesn’t truly mean it.

‘’Up to you’’ Roy shrugs and turns back to his cupboard. ‘’If you wanna wallow in self pity as usual, that’s your business’’

Dick opens his mouth to protest, but closes it just as soon. Knowing somehow that it will be pointless.

 Roy finds a poptart somewhere in the mess of snacks and canned beans. Tossing it into a beat up little toaster he turns to give Dick a bored look. ‘’Red velvet or Gingerbread?’’

Dick forgets how to work his own mouth. How to make words come out and make sense. He wants to tell Roy to go screw himself but all he can think of saying is, ‘’Gingerbread’’.

Roy gives him a thumbs up.

‘’Good choice’’

 

* * *

 

 

 

Bruce already knows who it is. The receptionist warned him a minute ago but he still fakes a look of surprise. 

‘’Commissioner Gordon’’ He flashes a bright, toothpaste-commercial smile. ‘’Am I in trouble?’’

Gordon huffs tiredly as he enters the room, studying the walls and furniture like a strange new land. He appears wary, immediately putting Bruce on edge.

‘’Not yet’’ Gordon says and smiles back at him, though it’s strained and not entirely genuine. Gordon looks at him like his mouth is full of glass and it is with much care and regret that he speaks. ‘’We need to talk about the boy’’

Bruce’s face does not betray him. His voice remains a smooth baritone, the type to charm reporters for years. And to some extent, even Gordon, though it seems this time he won’t be so lucky.

‘’Thank you for your concern, commissioner, but I thought we had already discussed this?’’

Gordon sighs. He eyes the pictures on the walls, the large paintings of the Waynes, pictures of Bruce shaking hands with important people. There’s even pictures of Dick Grayson during a local gymnastics championship.

Jim stops by the picture, lips drawn into a melancholic smile.

‘’Let’s drop the act, shall we?’’ Jim turns to give him a tired stare. ‘’I’m frankly too old and I’m sure you’re too smart to act this stupid’’

Bruce’s face changes in an instant. The airy, almost hollow charm is replaced by the calculating mask Gordon knows so well. He looks at him as if for the first time and the hundredth; a chill gently runs down his back in a way that is much too familiar.

‘’I don’t want him out on the streets again’’

Bruce gives him an unwavering look.

‘’I can assure you, commissioner, Dick is not the type to go running about’’

‘’I mean forever, Mr. Wayne’’ Jim’s eyes are hard, barreling through his feigned ignorance like paper. ‘’I told you once before that if he ever comes to harm –‘’ Jim sighs sharply. ‘’I can’t in good conscience let this continue’’

Bruce regards him for a long time. The air feels heavy to breathe, weighed down by a blanket of oppressive silence. He folds his hands and gives Gordon a granite look, speaking with utmost precision and calm.

‘’Nothing you or I say will keep him away from being Robin if that’s what he truly wants’’

‘’Mr. Wayne, I’m a father, I understand you think you’re doing what’s best, and your secret is safe with me, I swear on my life. However…’’ Gordon shakes his head. There’s something mournful about him, like he’s lost something dear. ‘’I don’t want to have to take him away but I will do what it takes to keep that boy safe’’

Bruce’s eyes harden instantly, warm brown darkened like stormy skies.

‘’Are you _threatening_ me, Jim?’’

There is that growl he has come to know. That unmistakable, unwavering will. Like a force of nature, he both in awe of its power and wary of its destruction.

‘’I hope it won’t come to that, believe me’’

They stare at each other in a long, cold silence. Neither one wavers, not looking away, not even twitching.

‘’I know last night you assured me he wasn’t on duty and that he’s… in therapy, whatever the hell that means –‘’

‘’He’s in good hands’’

‘’He doesn’t look like it!’’ Gordon’s voice rises  to an annoyed grumble. He takes a moment to collect himself, rubbing at his eyes. ‘’Christ’’

Gordon looks more shrunken, hunched under an invisible weight. The circles under his eyes are dark, marking his face and betraying his sleeplessness. A spotted hand rubs at his chin, eyes tired and old.

‘’Take this as a second chance’’ He says softly. ‘’Let him have a normal life, be a normal kid, with _normal_ hobbies. He shouldn’t be worrying about dangerous criminals and risking his _life_ , he’s… He should be worrying about homework and crushing on girls! Or – or boys –‘’  
  
Gordon gives him an almost pleading look. ‘’He’s just a _child_ , Mr. Wayne’’ 

Bruce’s stare remains unwavering.

‘’More than anyone in this world, I wish I could give him that. But he’s _not_ a normal child, Jim’’

Gordon shakes his head. ‘’Look, I’m not here to argue. I’m here to warn you’’ Gordon points at him. ‘’If I see him out there in that uniform, I _will_ do everything in my power to get him somewhere _safe_ ’’

Bruce says nothing, just keeps staring with that unrelenting, eerie composure. Gordon waits for as long as his nerves allow him to, before the urge for nicotine claws at his lungs and the thick, dark dread nestled in his chest becomes too heavy.

Gordon turns around to leave, hand trembling slightly as he reaches for the door.

‘’He’s lost his family once’’ Bruce watches his back as he grabs the handle. ‘’Don’t make him go through it again’’

Gordon pauses only for a second.

‘’Good evening, Mr. Wayne’’

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dick is splayed upside down on the couch, staring at the hypnotic flickering of the TV. With narrow eyes he watches the weather chaos reported over Keystone city; the ‘storm of the century’ specifically targeting one single town in a suspiciously precise pattern. His stomach ties itself into little knots, feeling deep in his gut like something isn’t quite right.

The reporter says the same thing everyone else is; every news channel covering the event repeats the other almost word for word. There’s video footage of the Flash rescuing people from a bus that’s flipped into a ditch, half buried by meters of snow. So far no casualties, but hundreds injured.

Bruce sits down with his hands clasped between his knees, staring at the TV with a troubled look.

‘’We should help them’’ Dick finds himself saying without really meaning to.

‘’Barry can handle it’’ Bruce says simply. Dick glances at him from the corner of his eye.

‘’I can go’’ he says, hesitantly. Dick feels compelled by some innate force, like a slumbering giant rising to life, taking over his body and making him say things he knows he shouldn’t.

He knows it’s crazy to even suggest it. He’ll have a panic attack the moment he puts the mask on.

‘’They’ll be fine, Dick’’

But still, something beckons him.

‘’Wally asked for help’’

Bruce’s eyes are hard and dark, covering something important. He has the same look as when there’s something to hide and had it been another time Dick would’ve argued.

‘’I said _no_ ’’

Dick stares back at the screen, face just a little more determined, his heart beating steadily inside his ribs. He can hear the television but the words won’t register in his head. Bruce sighs.

‘’You did good last night’’

Dick snorts. ‘’Because I managed to not kill myself or because I could still scale a building?’’

Bruce’s jaw tenses.

‘’I know it must have been difficult for you’’

‘’Oh, the panic attacks give it away?’’

Bruce gives him a bored look.

‘’It’s normal to be afraid, Dick’’

‘’Yeah, everyone keeps tellin’ me’’ Dick swings his legs off the backrest and swivels into an upright sitting position. ‘’Wish someone could tell me something useful for once’’

 ‘’I was afraid’’ Bruce says, his voice sounding strange, like he’s choosing his words very carefully and he has that sort of constipated look on his face. ‘’When I … took on the cape’’

Dick stares at him as if he’s turned into a ghost. Bruce looks him straight in the eyes and it hits him that he must be trying his best not to look imposing. His large, broad frame is shrunk just a little, just enough, as Bruce performs the approximation of a comforting posture.

‘’I took that fear and I carried it with me, _used_ it, made it into something –‘’

‘’Spare me the speech’’ Dick reaches for the remote to turn the TV off. Without looking at Bruce he gets to his feet.

‘’Dick’’ Bruce gets up just as fast. ‘’It’s for your own good’’

‘’Yeah?’’ Dick stops in the doorway, voice hot like spitting embers from a forest fire. ‘’Doesn’t feel very good’’

He begins to chase after him, but stops himself mid stride. The room seems uncomfortably quiet and he can hear Dick’s furious stomps on the upper floor. Bruce stares at his reflection in the black TV screen and sighs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s way past midnight and he knows Bruce is long gone. An undefined act of ecological terrorism has been grazing the Gotham evening news and Dick suspects it will keep his mentor busy for some time.

Alfred has fallen asleep in his chair outside the door, like a cartoon prison guard. It would be funny if it wasn’t so suffocating.

He distracts himself long enough by finding a convenient way to put his hair up without creating cause for ridicule, because Wally _will_ make fun of him if he can. After that, he stills the trembling of his hands to disable the security cameras with a view of his window. He quickly disables the proximity sensors around the mansion grounds with a script Bruce doesn’t know he’s made, and before he has time to really start panicking, he’s already got his boots on.

Dick remains crouched in the window for what feels like hours, but what is in reality only five minutes. His heart beats harder than it ever has, punching against his chest and vibrating through his body.

As his lungs start to shrink, twisting and tying themselves, he grabs a strong hold of the window sill and tries to count the stars.

‘’- thirty four, thirty five –‘’ he whispers to himself. ‘’Thirty six, thirty seven, thirty eight, Ursa Major makes forty five, forty six, forty seven –‘’

He puts the mask on.

‘’—Forty eight, forty nine, fifty. Okay.’’ He exhales shakily. ’’Showtime, Grayson’’

He grits his teeth together and jumps.


	35. Chapter 35

Keystone City looks as if encased within a snow globe; surrounded by a thick wall of clouds, gusts of wind and snow pelt down on the city below while all around remains sunlit and warm. Robin stops the bike and watches the city before him.  His heart hasn’t slowed down a beat since he left in the dead of night, rolling the bike the first kilometer before his paranoid mind would let him start it up.

It’s bit of a ride to Keystone and he’s half hoped things would've sorted themselves out by the time he got there. While maybe he could be considered passively suicidal, he’s not keen enough to drive his motorcycle through a blizzard.  He drives as far into the city as he can but is almost immediately thrown off the road by a violent wind. Skidding to an ungraceful halt he quickly decides the rest of the way is gonna have to be on foot.

Despite the polar suit it takes less than half an hour before he finds himself frozen deep down to the bone. He’s expected it to be cold but not _this_ cold. The wind sears like razors against his face, biting into his skin with teeth of ice.

The comlink provides nothing but unhelpful static. He’s not sure why but he hesitates to open the mind link. However shallow it may be, it seems much too personal a connection at this time.

''Hey! Robin?! Is that you?!''

Robin shields his face from the barrage of snowflakes and manages to spot a large figure descending from the blindingly white sky.

''Cap?''

''It  _is_  you! Oh boy, I didn't think you were working anymore! Are you here to help us?'' Billy’s eyes are filled with a juvenile glee, warm and brown in stark contrast to the biting wind. His cheeks are slightly rosy, his hair a tousled, wet mess, but he looks otherwise unbothered by the weather. On the contrary, he seems excited by the snow.

''I'm here to try!'' Robin shouts over the wind even though Captain Marvel can probably hear him anyway. ''Where is everyone?''

''Rocket and Zatanna are trying to get the emergency power on'' He counts on his fingers. ''Superboy, Aqualad and Red Arrow are bringing food to the shelters, Artemis and Miss Martian are helping at the hospital and Kid Flash and I are scouting for any people who might be trapped outside!''

''Any idea what's causing this?''

''No clue!''  Billy shakes his head, still smiling. ''Or, well, maybe, the Flash thought he had a lead, but I'm not sure, I wasn't really listening''

Robin’s annoyed groan is immediately swallowed by the wind. Despite the fervent clenching and unclenching of his hands his fingers have started going numb.

''I'll take you to the hospital if you want!'' Billy says cheerfully, his cape twisting and billowing around him.

''Wherever you think I'm useful!''

Billy floats down like a golden ray of sunshine in the midst of the howling storm. Something about his smile is warming but it does little to calm Robin’s nerves. As Billy grabs him by the armpits Robin’s entire body goes rigid. If Billy notices at all he doesn’t mention it. By the time Robin’s forced himself out of his rising panic, climbed out of the ice cold depths of his fear, he realizes they're already airborne. Fighting not to slip out of awareness, he clutches onto Billy's arms with claw-like fingers.

''So cool to have you back!'' Billy says.

Robin doesn’t answer. Even if he had a voice he thinks it would be lost in the wind.

‘’Just don’t drop me!’’ 

Billy laughs, though the request was only half a joke.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The central hospital is the only building in the area still lit up. Thousands of people must be crowded in there. He soon finds out from a nurse from another hospital that they've moved here, packed together like sardines since most of the town lost power.

People with non imminent injuries are crowded together in the corridors and he has to climb a few people to get through the building. Eventually he spots Artemis helping an old lady move from the bathroom to a cot that's been prepared for her. Strands of hair have come loose from her ponytail and dark circles frame her eyes, making them look more piercing. She stinks of old sweat when he approaches her and at first she looks at him like he’s risen from the dead.

''What the hell are you doing here?!''

''Nice to see you too'' Robin grimaces. ''I'm here to help, actually''

''Does Batman know you're here?''

Robin instantly tenses. ''Let me deal with Batman''

''Oh, jeez'' Artemis rubs at her face. ''You should _not_ be here''

''I'm  _fine_ ''

''Are you though?'' Her eyes, first dull with exhaustion are now sharp with scrutiny.

''Listen, forget about last time -''

''Yeah, not gonna happen''

''I'm here now, I want to help so can we focus on the giant blizzard _now_ and my problems _later_?''

Artemis eyes him suspiciously, but slowly seems to relent.

''Alright'' she says and points to an old man. ''Mr. Willis needs his bedpan emptied''

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
Dripping with snow, boots caked in dirt, Wally leaves a terrible mess behind as he sits himself down in the cafeteria. The exhaustion immediately lifts from his face at the sight of his friend, his shoulders rising again as he meets Robin’s gaze. Once Robin’s approached the table Wally nearly knocks him over with an enthusiastic high five.

It's been a while since Robin’s been to a hospital canteen. This one is empty and eerie looking with the whiteout outside contrasted against flickering fluorescent lights.

''Okay, so uncle Barry thinks it’s definitely Weather Wizard because, well, _duh_ ’’ He pauses several times when speaking to take a large chug of water, gasping heavily. ‘’He’s in the process of tracking him down so as soon as he calls we gotta skedaddle''

How he manages to speak even remotely coherently between large bites of food remains a mystery. Artemis watches him in horrified fascination, while Robin can't stop glancing at M'gann and the way she avoids his eyes. They've been at the hospital for an hour together and while Robin isn’t too eager to speak to his team mates, it bothers him to be so obviously ignored. He doesn't remember a thing from his breakdown at the mountain, barely aware of seeing Superman before his memories become a dark blur.

Artemis and Wally have filled him in somewhat. That he panicked, that he was taken home and that they were all very worried about him. Did he say something stupid? Were they embarrassed for him? Were they watching him with pity or disdain? He has no idea of knowing, can't tell the rational thoughts from the irrational ones at this point. Can't properly profile his friends by their posture, by every minute facial twitch or flickering gaze. Every fidgeting limb and every tired sigh, the sad eyes and heavy, slumping shoulders tell him nothing. The only thing he does know is that M'gann  _is_  avoiding him, so clearly he must’ve done  _something_ _to deserve that_.

''Rocket just contacted me and said they’d managed to restore the backup power to the South West block.’’ Artemis’ voice brings him out of his thoughts. ’’They're gonna see what they can do about the rest of the blackout areas and keep me updated''

''Superboy said they've got their hands full at the shelters'' Wally says. ''No catastrophes, just a lot of people who need a lot of attention''

''This can't be a natural event'' Robin muses to himself, arms crossed as he finally turns his eyes from M'gann to glare at the table. ''It fits Weather Wizard’s M.O, but what’s the _motive?_ ''

''This is some major level mojo, so it’s got to be something big''

''Not to mention  _weird_ '' Artemis frowns. ''There's no demands, no message, no ransom…''

''Unless it's a distraction'' Robin says and they all share a look.

''You think there's a second target?''

Robin shrugs. ''Unless someone's just messing with you for the hell of it''

''Have you checked the banks?''

''No, Artemis, I’m a _complete_ idiot!'' Wally says mockingly and slaps his forehead. ''How could we not check the _banks_! Silly speedsters!''

‘’I’m just saying!’’ Artemis growls at him. ‘’Something’s weird about this whole situation and it’s not just your face!’’

Wally sticks his tongue out.

‘’Calm down, children’’ Robin rolls his eyes, even if they can’t see it behind the mask.

''We need Cap to keep on the lookout for anyone stranded outside, but if all is calm here --'' Wally looks at Artemis, jaws tense in irritation.

''No emergencies’’ Artemis says, equally annoyed, but trying to be professional. ‘’The hospital has power, it has supplies and there's still water and food''

''We need Zatanna and Rocket to keep up their end, a lot of the city is still without power, but maybe we could spare the others...''

''I'll call them'' M'gann says, surprising them both. It's the first time since he arrived that Robin’s heard her speak. She's still not looking at him. Instead her eyes are focused on a point seemingly far away. ''What's the plan?''

Wally slams his fist down on his palm. ''Let's do a bank run!''

 ‘’I thought you checked the banks?’’ Robin frowns.

‘’Listen, as much as I hate to say it, Artemis has a point ‘’ Wally and Artemis share a glare. ‘’This whole thing _is_ fishy, and it can’t hurt to be extra careful. Who knows, maybe we missed something!’’

‘’Alright’’ Robin shrugs. ‘’Stick together or do an old-fashioned Scooby split?’’

‘’I’ll be Fred if you’ll be Daphne!’’ Only after the words have left his mouth does Wally realize exactly what he’s implied. It takes mere seconds for his face to turn an alarming shade of red. ‘’Let’s just – Uh –‘’

Artemis gets up with a dramatic sigh. ‘’Yeah, yeah, Casanova, let’s get going!’’

She grabs M’gann’s wrist and drags her to her feet, stomping away from the cafeteria with determined steps. Wally is visibly sweating when he looks at Robin again.

 ‘’Why am _I_ Daphne?’’

Wally grins unsteadily. ‘’Better than Scrappy?’’

Robin huffs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

While Barry and Wally had been busy for the first 24 hours making sure anyone out on the road got home safely, that anyone stranded had access to shelter and food and heat, as well as pulling a lot of people out of a lot of ditches, there was not the imminent thought of banks being vulnerable. After all, blizzards happen, nothing too nefarious about that. However, it soon became clear that it was a very targeted blizzard which seemed to have sprung out of nowhere, as if  _conjured_  to the city by some unknown will.

48 hours later and the roads are empty, the hospitals full and people told to stay inside while all business has halted. A quick look through each bank, each museum and each art gallery yields nothing. They are all impossible to enter without making some kind of noise and anyone crazy enough to brave the storm would be risking their lives. Even so Barry keeps his eyes and ears open.

Wally reaches captain Marvel over the mind link, but his scouting of the city tells him there's been no funny business going on. Still, Wally isn't convinced.

With Robin on his back he takes extra care not to slip on the ice, though he’s probably too fast to really properly be touching it. Robin clings onto him like a warm backpack, checking bank after bank with him just like in the good old days.

It’s really only by mistake that they discover it, and Robin mentally berates himself for being so _stupid_. Batman would’ve noticed it in seconds, and here he’s only now realizing that something is wrong about the place.

By a complete and stupid accident, Wally slips, stumbles and skids right into an invisible wall, crumbling down on him in thousands of shards of glass. Robin comes running immediately, helping his friend to his feet when he stops in awe of the scene before them.

The mirror that had previously been impossible to see now lies scattered on the floor. The bank looks as if transformed or sprung from another world; a bizarre version of the one they had seen before.

Cold winds breach through the doors, rustling their hair as it sweeps in between their feet. Shards of mirrored glass crunch under their shoes as they step further into the bank. Seeing the empty vaults, Wally lets out a frustrated scream.

''God damn it!'' Wally slaps his head.  ‘’I should’ve _known_!’’

‘’You think all the banks are like this?’’ Robin picks up one of the shards, scanning it with his computer.

The mirror had been small and hadn’t Wally slipped, they wouldn’t have noticed it. Not only was it tiny, it had been placed inconspicuously by a plant, casting some sort of visual illusion over the foyer. The little computer in his glove reveals a bizarre molecular structure from the shard.

‘’I don’t know, dude’’ Wally sighs. ‘’With my luck, probably. God damn it!’’

''Hey’’ Robin squeezes his friend's shoulder. ‘’At least we know who to look for’’

He’s not really sure what happens after that. One moment his arms are around Wally’s neck, cold wind hitting his face and he struggles to breathe as Wally runs faster. They nearly trip a few times as he hurries through the snow. He tells Robin to hold his breath and runs faster than he ought to, but at least it gets them there. Where, Robin isn’t quite sure.

They split up, Robin entering from a window, allowing the door to open from inside. He thinks they might be in a government building.  He quickly disables the surveillance cameras and gestures for Wally to proceed. Wally’s run a perimeter check in less than five seconds, and by the time they’ve checked the second floor, he’s managed to figure out they’re probably in the mayor’s office.

The next thing Robin remembers is a gust of wind grabbing him. Without really thinking about it he grabs his grapple hook, firing it off blindly. He nearly dislocates his shoulder when the wire tightens, but manages to remain in one piece, even as Wally grabs onto his leg.

‘’Kid Flash!’’ Weather Wizard is there, suddenly, and Robin isn’t sure where he came from, but figures he must’ve been there the whole time. He has to shout to be heard over the wind. ‘’In this weather? And I see you brought a friend!’’

‘’Hey, Mardon!’’ Wally shouts from somewhere behind Robin, cape flicking him in the face.  ‘’I checked the weather forecast! One hundred percent of you getting your ass kicked!’’

‘’Clever as always’’ Weather Wizard waves his hand in a circular motion, the wand blinking a pale yellow light. ‘’But it hardly takes a meteorologist to see what’s wrong with that picture‘’

The grapple hook Robin had sent out stops its steady blinking and with a familiar, pre-recorded laughter, and somewhat to his own surprise, it detonates. Weather Wizard is knocked off his feet, and though he doesn’t let go of the wand, at least the wind stops.

Wally hits the ground hard, completely unprepared for the explosion. While Robin manages to catch himself on time in a half-graceful somersault, he’s not entirely sure he meant to do that. Apologetically he helps his friend to his feet.

 ‘’Give it up, Weather Wizard’’ Wally pulls his goggles down. ‘’You’re done for!’’

‘’Oh, yeah?’’ Weather Wizard scoffs. ‘’While you’re here wasting your time, I’ve got Mirror Master emptying every vault in town! By the time I’m done with you – _Hey_!‘’

Robin’s thrown a birdarang at his hand, successfully knocking the wand to the floor. Weather Wizard gapes at him in infuriated surprise. He doesn’t think he’s ever been interrupted mid-monologue before.

‘’Enough chit chat!’’ Robin snarls, waving for Wally to move.

Wally gives him a wide-eyed stare before diving towards the wand. In the tumultuous struggle that follows, the wand goes off, spitting bolts of lightning through the room like projectiles.

Robin manages to duck; either by skill or sheer luck he’s missed their path by the width of a hair.  One nearly hits his head, but he feels abnormally calm about it, as if running on autopilot.  Wally struggles for the weapon, bolts firing aimlessly into the ceiling. Cracks are soon spreading through the marble with an ominous rumble.

Despite his quick reflexes, Robin is still out of shape. Every bolt cuts just a little closer, just a little bit nearer, until one nearly hits his boot, causing him to stumble. The next bolt passes straight through the ceiling. Before anyone has time to react the room is filled with a thick cloud of dust.

''Watch out!'' Someone shouts and the next thing he hears is a loud rumbling as concrete and marble collapses upon them.

Everything goes upside down and he feels an intense, surging pain burn through his head as it hits the floor. Dust fills his nostrils, crawling deep into his lungs and he realizes he’s been screaming. Coughing up dust and spitting blood, he tries to move but his body trembles too much, pinned to the ground he feels just like –

– the ceiling was collapsing, just like now, just like now he's trapped by tons of stone and concrete. He’s crushed, crushed, crushed, except – Wally’s there, Wally shouldn't be here; Wally wasn't there, he knows that, he  _knows_  that Wally wasn't –

''Hey, hey, hey'' Wally pats his chest. His breath is hot and smells like chocolate – not at all like wet and rotten, like a dead tooth, not like – Wally's body covers him while wide, green eyes stare down in terror.

''Hey, don't go anywhere'' Wally says, breathing demonstratively. ''Breathe with me – in and out – I know you can do that''

Robin breathes in, and Wally breathes in. He exhales and Robin exhales. Wally starts to look clearer, coming out of the blur and the haze around his edges. The sounds that have been muffled and many now focus into a few. He can see M’gann in the corner of his eye, knows it's her by the smell of her perfume – lily of the valley or sweet pea or something – and all the jumbled details finally come together to form a bigger picture. 

Wally breathes out, his breath ghosting over Robin's face. M'gann is by their side now, touching Wally's shoulder and giving them worried looks. Only now does he notice the psychic shield around them as it dissolves.

''Are you ..?'' Unsure of what to do, but wanting to do something, M'gann reaches out her hand.

''Megan, you beautiful goddess! You saved our lives!'' Wally laughs, grabbing her hand in his and squeezing it tightly.

He pats his own chest to make sure he's actually still there and under the tips of his fingers he can feel his heart fluttering. Sweat drips down his face and his arms are shaking violently, but he still has to get off from Robin.

Robin doesn’t know why, but he finds himself clutching Wally’s arm. It feels like the right thing to do as the tension in his muscles releases.

Wally grabs his shoulders, squeezing him like an unripe fruit at the farmer's market. Robin finds he doesn't mind the touch; on the contrary it seems to anchor him, weigh down his fleeting mind as it threatens to slip away. Wally leans his forehead against his own, their sweaty skin sticking together.

''You gotta stop doing this'' Wally says, still smiling incredulously but with something painful and sharp hidden underneath the words.

Robin doesn't know what to say. They remain just breathing each other's air for a while. His heart slows down its panicked rhythm and he thinks the tingling in his head has stopped. There is still a dull ache, but he thinks he’ll be alright to stand up now.

Wally finally rolls off him, collapsing on his back, hands covering his face as he releases a wave of emotion. Through him, he tries to fight subtle tears, tries to fight the relief and anger and shock, the exhaustion finally, finally settling in. M'gann hugs him, but she's soon crying as well. Robin doesn't quite understand why. He says nothing as he pulls himself up to a sitting position. Absently touching his own face, he thinks he might be crying too.

Artemis towers above them, looking at them as if they’ve all gone crazy.

''Uh…  Are… you guys okay?''

''Yeah'' Wally gives her a thumbs up, squeezing M’gann close. ‘’Just had a near death experience but other than that everything’s peachy!’’

‘’O…kay’’

Artemis gives them a once-over before deciding not to ask. She helps them to their feet and as Robin gets up he realizes he has no idea when she got here, or how Weather Wizard’s been tied up. Did he black out?

Weather Wizard’s conscious, but roughed up quite a bit. Artemis keeps watch, bow aimed at his throat, until the Flash appears to take him away. Robin’s not sure when everybody made it here, or what happened in between. Probably a concussion, he thinks, nearly tripping down the stairs on his way out.

Wally grabs him on time, holding him up with a grin.

''See!’’ Wally says cheerfully, patting his back. ‘’Crime fighting's not so bad, you big baby!''

Robin looks at him with hazy eyes, breathing heavily through his nose. ''Batman's gonna kill me''  
  
''He'll kill _me_ first'' Wally looks sort of serious, though it’s hard to tell through the headache. ‘’You should get checked out, dude. Did you hit your head or something?’’

Robin groans. ‘’Honestly, I don’t know’’

‘’Let’s get you looked at’’ Robin takes a deep breath, the world momentarily spinning around him. Once it’s stabilized, he lets Wally lead him over to the paramedics parked in the street.  
  
''What time is it?'' Robin mumbles.  
  
''5 am''

''5 am?! I need to get back to Gotham! Batman will -'' He sways lightly, forgetting what he was about to say.

‘’Woah, woah!’’ Wally grabs his arms. ‘’Calm down, cowboy! Let me deal with Batman, you need to see a medic’’

''I’m not supposed to _be_ here!’’

Wally sits him down next to a paramedic. Robin’s not sure but he thinks his friend is rolling his eyes.

‘’Listen, you’re not driving home with a concussion and you’re not _walking_ –‘’

‘’But –‘’ The paramedic shines a small flashlight into his masked eyes. Robin flinches back. ‘’Stop that!’’

‘’Dude! Stop arguing! You’re staying here until I’m sure you won’t die in your sleep or something’’

‘’Someone could fly me –‘’

‘’He’s got a point’’ The paramedic says, ignoring his death glare.

Robin groans, putting his face in his hands. All his efforts to remove evidence of his presence will be for nothing if he doesn’t get home before Batman. But he’s too dizzy to argue and he really doesn’t feel up to going anywhere except bed at this point.

He swallows down a dry heave. ‘’ _Fine_ ’’

Wally gives him a gentle pat on the back.

‘’That’s the spirit’’

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

There is something about Wally, something unlike the dark and empty hallways of the mansion; the looming rooms with their many echoes. Even Alfred, who tries his best, cannot make it feel like less of a cage. He feels confined, and the dread that lingers in his room is suffocating. But not Wally.

Wally is bright and patient. Wally has an iron will and he would pick the moon from the sky if he wanted to, just to prove that he could. Wally is safe and warm and - Dick knows tomorrow will be Hell, but Wally is bright and safe and  _there._ He’s real and solid when the world keeps blurring at the edges.

Wally lies on a mattress on the floor, staring up at him with curious eyes.

''This is the first time we have a sleepover in like... a year'' He says, somewhat nostalgic.

Dick grimaces. The indescribable urge in him for the comforting touch of somebody he can trust becomes so overwhelming he feels sick. Although it may just be the concussion.

‘’You sure this is okay?’’ Wally lets a moment of silence pass by before breaking it again. ‘’Me being in the room, I mean’’

‘’It’s fine’’ Dick mumbles, arm draped across his face to shield from the obtrusive moonlight peeking through the blinds.

‘’I just mean, with what’s happened…’’

‘’It’s _fine_ ’’

Wally watches him in silence while the poison in Dick’s voice ebbs out.

‘’Really’’ Dick says, looking at him now. ‘’It’s okay’’

‘’Okay’’ Wally nods. ‘’I just don’t wanna… you know… Push your boundaries or whatever’’

‘’Don’t worry about it’’ Dick says flatly, though they both know Wally will most definitely worry about it.

The room feels heavy as if Wally’s weighing something over in his mind. He lets out a long sigh.

''Do you regret coming out here?''

''No''

They stay in silence for a while after that.  Wally has almost fallen asleep when Dick shifts in the bed.

''Wally, do you mind --''

He doesn't know how to finish the sentence, feels stupid and childish to even be thinking about it. Somehow, though he’s not sure why he’s surprised, but Wally seems to know.  Without words, and trying to fight a powerful blush, Wally gets up.

''Scoot''

Dick lets him lie on the bed on top of the covers, not touching but his breath blowing gently across his back. Dick turns to face him, giving him a strange look. His gaze is hard and seemingly unstoppable, reaching through the dark.

''I was so scared I was too late again'' Wally says, out of nowhere, voice quiet but close. ''It… it was just like last time and… Thanks for coming out here, dude, I really appreciate it. It must've been tough for you''

Dick rests his forehead against his own, mirroring Wally's movement from before. His skin is running hot but Wally's own is cool. He stares at him gently.

''You owe me one''

Wally smirks weakly. ''Saved your idiot butt today, I think that counts''

Dick huffs. ''Big deal''

‘’Dude’’ Wally glares at him. ‘’Really, I mean it. Thanks for coming’’

Dick regards him with an unreadable expression. ‘’You know…’’

‘’What?’’

Dick sighs. ‘’It felt pretty good’’

Wally’s eyes light up.

‘’Yeah?’’

‘’Yeah’’ Dick swallows. ‘’Like I’m… I don’t know… Like I actually have a chance’’

''A chance for what?'’

''Sorry about this'' Dick mumbles, changing the subject. ''I feel like a baby''

''You are a baby''

Dick huffs and turns his back to him. For a brief moment Wally’s chest twists with panic that he might have crossed a line, but realizes Dick is only pretending to sulk. Wally studies his back as it rises and falls with his breaths.

''Are you sure this is okay? I'm not, like, invading your space or anything?''

Dick gives him a suspicious stare over his shoulder. ''You been watching talkshows or something?''

Wally blushes. ''Documentaries, maybe''

''Yeah?''

Wally shrugs one shoulder. ‘’ _Maybe_ some Oprah''

Dick snorts,  turning his back to him again mainly so he can't see him blush. A deep, beetroot red marks his cheeks and his stomach fills with a warm, pleasant weight. He feels his heart beat faster, not out of panic, but more like a tingling between his bones.

''If I feel uncomfortable I'll punch you'' He says, partially muffled by the pillow.

''Deal''

Dick huffs.

''Goodnight, idiot''

''Goodnight, dumbass''

Wally lies with him until he falls asleep.  Once Dick’s been breathing peacefully for a while, he quietly climbs back onto his mattress. Wally’s head barely hits the pillow before he’s drifted off into his dreams.

Outside the sun has begun to rise, glowing through ice and gently settled snow.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw self harm / attempted suicide

Dick wakes up screaming.

Clawing at the sheets, he kicks his legs so violently he nearly falls off the bed. Wally doesn't dare hold him down but manages to rouse his friend with a gentle touch, breaking his shallow sleep like thin, frail ice.

Dick stares at him in wide eyed animalistic terror. Sweat drenches his shirt, plastering it to his thin frame. It takes him a moment to focus, to recognize Wally and the room but as soon as he does, relief initially washes over his body like a cool stream. Not before too long, even this fragile calm is blown away by a different kind of dread.

Patting the bed down, he breathes a sigh of relief once he finds it's still dry, save for some sweat where his back has been. Wally’s confused eyes follow him but it feels wrong to say anything.

''It was the electric shocks'' Dick croaks, struggling to push the words out. He's shaking though he pretends like he isn't. Wally rests his elbows on the mattress and fights the urge to touch him.

‘’Wanna talk about it?’’

Dick gasps for breath. Once he has his breathing at least sort of under control he turns to look at his friend.

‘’Not much to talk about’’ Wally feels deflated with a familiar pang of disappointment; the same he’s come to know well by now. Dick stares at Wally with wide, blue eyes. ‘’There was a cattle prod’’

''Okay''

‘’He… uh…’’

 ‘’It’s okay, dude, take your time’’

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually, Dick starts to talk. Wally listens patiently, resisting the impulse to grab him by the arms, resists the urge to hate himself; what ifs and whys are useless but so easy to succumb to. Ultimately they lead to nothing but regrets and he thinks he’s had enough of those.

Dick shivers the entire time, despite curling up inside the covers. There is something so young about him in that moment; something open and raw and honest. Wally takes his hand but says nothing. There is nothing to say. He won’t even pretend that anything could make things undone.

Dick forgets himself, trails off mid-sentence, loses his train of thought as words get stuck in his throat. A lot of it is fragmented, disorganized, but never vague. Images frozen in time, that have frozen him, spill out of him like water. The more it pours the lighter he feels, but at the same time, it leaves him hollowed out and aching.

Dick talks more than he even plans to, like the words have a life of their own, and the water keeps running. His throat tightens and twists until speaking becomes painful, like swallowing needles. No matter how many times he tells the story, he feels like it will never stop hurting. There aren’t words to describe it, but he tries, and little by little those fragmented memories are spoken into truth.

 J’onn says the more he tells it the less it will frighten him, the less it will hurt until one day he will feel in control of his own story again. Dick doesn’t believe that’s true but has learned not to argue.

Wally listens to his memories, still gripping his hand as Dick speaks. He’s nearly rambling now, like his body is purging a poison; his soul vomiting every open wound, every badly closed scar that has tried again and again to heal.

He doesn’t know how long he’s talking for, or how much he’s really said. He’s shaking by the end of it, and nothing has ever felt as gentle as Wally’s warm body against his own. Wally hugs him, like so many other times, but it feels different now. Like fire under his skin, like sleep to a feverish head and kindness to a dying animal.  Dick hasn’t noticed crying, but feels Wally’s tears drip on his shoulder and becomes acutely aware of his own.

‘’We were looking for you’’ Wally says, muffled by his shoulder. ‘’Day after day, we looked _everywhere_ and we weren’t gonna stop until we found you. I need you to know that, man, we would never stop – _I_ would never’ve stopped looking’’

Dick closes his eyes until he sees spots behind his eyelids. There is something healing about Wally’s sweaty skin, something cathartic about the words bleeding from his mouth. Being ugly and difficult and still feeling warm arms around himself, cocooned inside another human being’s kindness.

 ‘’I’ll keep saying it until it gets through your thick head’’ Wally says. ‘’We’ll never quit on you. Not even when you quit on yourself’’

Dick sighs into Wally’s shoulder. His body feels so heavy, so tired and aching. He sleeps and sleeps but never once wakes up rested.  The flesh will not forget; his blood still runs cold and his hands still shake. J’onn says again and again that it is necessary to hurt to in order to heal.

‘’Everything’s wrong’’ He croaks. He wishes things could be simpler than this.

‘’It’s not wrong’’ Wally moves back to look at him, eyes dark and thoughtful. ‘’Just different’’

‘’I’m different too’’

‘’Doesn’t matter’’ Wally’s stare pierces right through him. ‘’You’re still my best pal’’

Dick looks away. His heart has slowed down but still feels wrong, like it’s the wrong size for his chest. It struggles with every beat the way a horse trudges through mud.

‘’I know things are rough right now, I get that’’ Wally says. ‘’But you’ve got so many people rooting for you’’

‘’I know that’s supposed to make me feel better but I just … I just feel like I’m letting everybody down’’ Dick covers his face and groans. ‘’I feel like an impostor’’

Wally puts a hand on the top of his head, lying heavy but gentle. Dick glances curiously at him through his fingers.

 ‘’Hey, I love you, dude’’ Wally flushes a soft pink. ‘’ _We_ _all_ love you. You'll get through this, I swear’’

Dick’s heart flutters. His mouth feels inexplicably dry and he’s not sure why his chest is so tight. But he knows that he’s lucky, and he wishes he had the strength to express that.

‘’Thanks’’ Is the closest he can get for now, but he hopes it can convey at least some part of it.

‘’Go to sleep, pixie boots, it's past dawn’’ Wally ruffles his hair. Dick slaps his hand away, but not unkindly.

‘’I’d rather not’’

Sleep pulls at the corners of his eyes, beckoning him back to bed. Back to dreams that still feel so real even when the world keeps fading out of focus. Dreams he’d rather fight a little while longer.

‘’Well, what’s the plan then?’’

Dick stares at his own hands for a moment, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly before their eyes meet again.

‘’You still got that SEGA?’’

Wally smirks. ‘’I might’’

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

''Sorry to worry you Alfie, but my friends needed help''

Alfred eyes him in the rearview mirror. The limousine must be new; Dick doesn’t recognize the tasteful, dark grey fabric interior or the mahogany dash panel. They’ve been driving out of Keystone in silence, watching as the city tries to rise out of the snow. People are out shoveling and salting like their lives depend on it, but at least the sun is shining, making the snow glitter idyllically against a blue sky.

''Young master, while I am very unhappy regarding your midnight adventure, at least you were kind enough to leave me a note, however hastily scribbled. Now – ''

‘’There’s no evidence of me being here’’ Dick says hastily. Alfred gives him an unimpressed look in the mirror. ‘’Just saying! Plausible deniability’’

‘’Master Dick – ’’

He braces himself for the worst as Alfred takes a deep breath. Silence lingers for much too long and he’s about to start panicking when Alfred lets out a gentle sigh.

''I am very, very proud of you''

Dick doesn’t know what to say. His eyes are stinging, but he tries to ignore it. Cold daggers sink into his chest, carving the flesh as he tries his hardest not to break down.

''I don't know if I want to be Robin again.’’ He blurts out, unable to stop himself, speaking as if possessed. An immense pressure builds inside his ribcage, pushing against his bones like a force trying to break out. ‘’I mean, I  _do_ , but I don't know if I want to be Robin because it was taken from me or if it’s what I actually _want_. I don’t even know if I _deserve_ to be Robin''

‘’Master Dick, this is not about what anyone else wants from you’’ Alfred says calmly and with conviction, eyes remaining soft. ‘’You don't have to prove yourself to me – or anyone else, for that matter. Whatever you decide, do it because you think it makes a difference, because you want to help, because it's who you are''

Dick bites his cheek. ''Is it?’'

''See this as an opportunity to figure that out’’ Alfred says casually. He makes a slow turn onto the motorway, driving into a different world of green grass and budding flowers, rising out of the dirt and the pollution. ‘’No one's expecting you to know that right now’'

''What if I _never_ know?''

''What if the moon falls out of the sky? What if master Bruce hangs up the cowl and becomes a goat herder? What if I retire to a tropical island?''

Dick doesn’t answer, but the tightness in his stomach has let go. He clenches and unclenches his fists, watching the tendons work underneath the skin. He has managed to keep the tears at bay this far, but his heart is still beating loudly, weighed down by a heavy ache.

 ‘’Is Bruce angry?’’

Alfred looks thoughtfully out the window ‘’He is worried’’

Dick sighs. ‘’I was just trying to do the right thing’’

‘’I know, master Dick. And so does he’’ Alfred nods. ‘’You must understand, things are complicated at the moment’’

Dick looks out the window with a bitter grimace. A foul taste lingers in his mouth. ‘’When aren’t they?’’

Alfred glances at him in the mirror, but says nothing. They finish the rest of the ride in silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Bruce awaits them like a looming cloud. Dick tries to brace himself but still flinches when he speaks. The tone of Bruce’s voice hits like a slap in the face.

''Do you have  _any_  idea what you’ve done?''

Dick opens his mouth to argue, but Bruce won’t let him get a word out. His eyes are hard and dark, in a way like he’s only seen before when missions have gone bad. Whenever he’s gotten hurt, when things have cut too close. His stomach twists in nervous anticipation, muscles tensing as he waits for something terrible to happen.

‘’I was just trying to –‘’

‘’I explicitly _ordered_ you not to go’’

‘’I had to help them!’’ The feeling of suffocating returns full force and it becomes difficult to breathe. The walls are closer than they should be, blurry and out of focus as he struggles against vertigo.

‘’You could be put into foster care if anyone saw you!''

‘’What?’’ Dick hisses. ''What the hell are you talking about?’’

‘’Gordon’s got his eyes on you. If he sees you out there as Robin he will do his best to take you away from here –‘’

‘’What? From _here_? How does –‘’ Dick’s eyes widen. ‘’No, no – How? _How_ did he –  ?’’ He gasps for air but the air is thick and hard and feels like drowning. ‘’Why the hell didn't you tell me?!''

''I _gave_ you an order''

‘’That’s not what I’m talking about!’’ Dick grits his teeth to stifle a scream. ''Damn it, what's the difference? What's the  _point_?''

Bruce looks at him like he’s not making sense. Maybe he isn’t, Dick doesn’t really care; all he knows is that he’s gasping for air in a vacuum and nothing’s really changed at all.

‘’I might as well not even have come back!’’

''Stop being dramatic''

''I'm not being dramatic!’’ Dick throws his arms out, which in hindsight _is_ kind of dramatic, but he’s too caught up in his own emotions to care. The urge to lash out, to move, to stretch, to break out of something invisible that confines his breaths, consumes him so rapidly he barely realizes that he’s screaming.

‘’What difference does it make if I’m locked up here or in juvie or with – with _him_ – what’s the _difference?_ ‘’

Bruce’s face softens. He kneels down in front of him, seeking his gaze though Dick does his best to avoid it. Staring deep into his eyes, Dick feels all strength leave him.

‘’Talk to me, Dick’’

Dick glares at him.

‘’When was the last time anyone asked me what I want?’’

''What _do_ you want?''

''I don't know'' Dick says tiredly. ''But I  _need_  some space to breathe. Everyone’s so scared all the time but no one’s stopped to ask what I want to do, _how_ I want to do this. I feel like I'm drowning in good intentions’'

Dick feels his hands trembling and quickly shoves them in his pockets. ‘’Does anyone even care about what I want or are you all just trying to make yourselves feel better?’’

‘’If we did this on your terms you’d be dead by now’’ Bruce speaks softly but matter of fact, and something snaps inside him. Rapidly consumed by a hot burning, impotent rage, like he’s been pacing the same small cage for too long, his muscles now ache to run.

‘’At least it would have been _my_ decision!’’

‘’Dick –‘’ Bruce stands up to stop him, but Dick is already storming off. Bitterly, he thinks he sees more of the boy’s back than his face lately.

Bruce sighs and looks to Alfred for some kind of guidance, but the butler only gives him a tired look.

 ‘’He has a point’’

‘’I _know_ he has a point’’

‘’Master Bruce, you may have studied the subject extensively, but at the end of the day you are not a trauma therapist. Taking the last agency away from him is not going to do any good and I _know_ you know better than that’’

‘’I just don’t trust him yet. He’s always been self-destructive but now it’s…’’ Bruce sighs, rubbing his temple. ‘’I’m just trying to keep him safe’’

Alfred gives him a long, grim stare.

‘’The road to hell, Master Bruce’’

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

He stumbles into the en suite bathroom on weak legs.  The mirror he broke has been replaced, and though he has half a mind to smash it again, he stops himself. The trembling has worsened so much he almost drops the scalpel.

He’d nicked it at the hospital. Not sure _why_ , just unable to fight the impulse to grab it. As soon as he saw it, lying there in one of the rooms, unguarded, forgotten, he had been overcome with an urge he couldn’t fight. He clutches it now, feeling the cool stainless steel against his sweaty palm, watching as the light reflects off its body.

There is a screeching silence in his mind as if every thought has been put on hold. Knees shaking, he can’t fight the deep, primal feeling that he has to destroy something. He presses the blade against his wrist and the pulsating vein tucked beneath pale skin. The blue of his veins seems darker in the warm light of the bathroom lamp. He pushes harder, feeling the pressure but not the pain. He feels nothing nothing _nothing_ through the fog of numb indifference. Like dead nerve endings, frozen cold, flesh that’s died; the complete necrosis of his brain and soul. He’s not sure if this can even be called living anymore.

He pushes further, knows he has to get by the tendons if he really wants to make the cut matter, if he wants to drain everything properly he needs to – he needs to _stop_.

With a shuddering breath, he unclenches his teeth and throws the scalpel away. It clatters against porcelain somewhere outside his peripheral.  Dick falls to his knees on the warm, heated tiles as short gasps of air escape him. The silence is broken by the unnaturally loud humming of the bathroom light. It seems to grow and swell until it’s filled the whole room with its mighty sound.

He watches the tiny trail of blood slowly roll down his wrist, flushed skin pulsating around the wound. It’s a shallow cut, it’ll close soon, coagulate and heal. Most likely it won’t even scar, just disappear as if it had never been there to begin with.

Dick traces the faint blood with shaking fingers as he curls into himself. Bile pulsates in his throat and he has to fight to push it down.

He’s not sure how long he lies there for. Staring at the small cut, transfixed by it like a house fire, his numbness is violently pushed away by rage. It comes from nowhere, out of the depths of his mind and like the flip of a switch, he rises to his feet.

Grabbing the scalpel without looking at it, he feels it almost like a burning weight in his hand as he violently throws it in the bin. He takes the bag out, ties it and stashes it deep in his closet where it won’t be found. As soon as he gets a second of peace, he’ll throw it away, or so he tells himself.

‘’Not like this, you bastard’’ he hisses to the unrelenting dark of his room, head leaning against the wardrobe door.  Dick grinds his teeth together. ‘’You don't deserve it’’

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

In the midst of squashing poorly folded sweaters into a duffel bag, he’s interrupted by a knock on the door. Dick knows it’s Bruce by the sound of it and after the initial panic has subsided, he reclaims enough awareness to throw the bag under his bed.

‘’What?’’ he half-croaks, half-snarls. The door swings open just as he’s managed to plop himself down innocently on the bed.

Bruce gives him a suspicious look, eyeing the room as if he just _knows_. Sometimes Dick wonders if the man’s been psychic all this time and never told him.

 ‘’Listen’’ Bruce says and turns to him. ‘’I don’t want you to think I’m doing any of this to punish you’’

 Dick is too concerned about pushing the bag further in with the back of his foot than to fully acknowledge the anger simmering in his gut. Bruce takes a seat in his desk chair to give him that paternal look he hasn’t quite yet mastered.

 ‘’I just want you to be safe, especially now with Gordon –‘’

 ‘’It’s fairly simple’’ Dick snaps, glaring at him fully. ‘’Either you let me decide if I want to be Robin again – ‘’ Bruce opens his mouth to interrupt, but Dick cuts him off. ‘’— _or_ I will go so far from here not even you could find me again’’

Bruce’s jaws tighten but as always, his face remains unreadable. Something seems to be ticking in his head, as it takes him a while to answer. Dick feels pearls of sweat gather on his forehead, but tries not to look intimidated. He’s not even sure he _could_ disappear, or if he really means the threat, but he can damn well try to sound like it.

 ‘’I want to go to the mountain’’ Dick says, words welling out like vomit. ‘’I want to get out of the house, I want to train, I want to see my friends and I – I want to do missions again. I gained weight, I’ve been working on my stamina and I –‘’

 ‘’Dick’’

 ‘‘You can’t keep me safe by locking me up!’’

 ‘’ _Dick_ ’’

 They stare at each other. Dick absent-mindedly pulls at the sleeve of his hoodie.

 ‘’You have _no_ idea’’ Dick whispers. ‘’No idea what I’ve been through, so don’t even pretend like you know how to fix it’’

 Something shifts in Bruce’s face, though he’s unsure of what; his shoulder seem heavier and his eyes more weary, like he's weighing something over that he doesn't like. Dick feels himself relax slightly, unfolding his arms as Bruce sighs.

 ‘’How about you do reconnaissance missions for a while?’’ He says finally, voice tight. ‘’See how you feel. Then we could consider moving you into shorter missions’’

 Dick exhales heavily through his nose.

 ‘’Okay’’ he says, though it leaves a bitter feeling behind, he’s learned to choose his battles.

‘’And I know you…’’ Bruce pauses, seeming to search for the words. Or perhaps to collect himself, conceal his own inner dark. ‘’You asked to see _him_. If you still want to carry through with that, I could have that arranged.’’

 All air escapes him and Dick stares at his guardian in silent shock. His mind immediately starts working, churning and twisting as images penetrate his thoughts. Pictures so vivid and clear, like fragments of a movie he can’t turn off, the very tips of his fingers go numb.

 ‘’Dick’’ Bruce is next to him now and the world which had disappeared, like water through a drain, slowly manifests itself around him. He feels the cold sensation down his spine of having been woken from a nightmare, but isn’t entirely sure he’s stopped sleeping.

 ‘’I –‘’ Dick tries to speak but his mouth feels like a separate part of his body. He pats the bed in an attempt to feel something solid, something to anchor him to the present but it is vague under his palms, like a figment of his imagination.

 ‘’Just say the word’’ Bruce says. ‘’It doesn’t have to be soon. It doesn’t have to happen at all. But I want you to know I didn’t forget and if that is your decision, just let me know’’

Dick works his jaws with no sound, grinding his teeth like he’s never noticed his mouth before. Bruce regards him in silence, eyes thoughtful and gentle.

 ‘’There's someone that wants to see you too’’ Bruce says after a while. ‘’If you’re up for it’’

 ‘’Who?’’ Dick blinks, pinching his own arm, right where the cut should be. The sting of pain helps to pull him back, grounding him enough to recognize the angles of Bruce's face again.

 ‘’Clark’’ Bruce sighs. ‘’He wants us to come over for dinner’’

 Dick blinks again, faster this time. ‘’In Metropolis?’’

 ‘’Yes. This weekend, if you –‘’

 ‘’Yeah’’ Dick interrupts, voice dazed. ‘’Yeah, why not. Sure’’

 Bruce gives him a strange look. ‘’Are you sure?’’

 ‘’Yeah, it’s fine, it’ll be fine’’ Dick waves his hand dismissively. He says nothing after that, rubbing at his wrist again, eyes staring at the floor like he’s trying to figure out the world’s most complex math problem.

 Bruce doesn’t feel entirely alright with leaving him like that. Doesn't feel comfortable about a lot of things, but it seems these days he's constantly being torn between the lesser of two evils.

 ‘’If you want -'' He says reluctantly. ''- we can do some training’’

 Dick’s eyes snap up to meet his in an instant. ‘’Seriously?’’

 Bruce nods. ‘’Seriously’’

 Dick opens his mouth, then turns to stare at his closet. Looking back at Bruce, his face lights up ever so slightly.

 ‘’Okay’’ He says. ‘’Show me what you got, old man’’


	37. Chapter 37

’’It’s about time, Clark. I can’t believe you’ve waited _this long_ ’’

The sound of plates clattering mix with Lois’ heels hitting the kitchen floor. Clark is nervously trying to fix his tie, although why he’s dressing so formally for something that’s supposed to be casual, he isn’t quite sure. All the while Lois casts him admonishing stares.

‘’I just don’t –‘’ he frowns deeply.

‘’Don’t what? Know how to act like a normal person?’’ Lois rolls her eyes as she sets the glasses on the table. ‘’You Kryptonians are the most stubborn…’’

‘’Lois’’

‘’What? The boy _adores_ you, Clark! I just don’t see why it’s taken you all this time to see him. It’s gonna be good for him to get away from Gotham, it’s too gloomy!’’

Clark gives up on his tie with a frustrated growl. Lois takes pity on him and wanders over, swiftly putting it in place. She pats him on the shoulder, straightens his collar and pinches his cheek with a teasing smirk.

‘’Don’t you look charming’’

He’s just about to very dramatically roll his eyes when the gate phone rings.

‘’Ooh, that’s them!’’ She hurries over to pick it up. ‘’Hello? Yes, I’ll buzz you right in, hang on’’

She presses the button that unlocks the front gate. ‘’Mhm… Mhm… Yeah. Okay, okay see you soon’’

As she hangs up she turns towards Clark with an excited, somewhat frightening look in her eyes.

‘’Ready, big guy?’’

Clark feels like he’d rather get his teeth pulled, and Lois knows this. He badly fakes a smile. ‘’Still too late to cancel?’’

‘’Oh, shut up. I don’t get why you’re so worried anyway! He’s fourteen! I’m sure you could take him in a fight if things get rowdy’’

Clark sighs.

‘’I just don’t know what to say’’

Lois opens her mouth and for a moment looks like she’s going to give him some kind of motivational speech; luckily she’s interrupted by a knock on the door.

‘’Well, you can start with hello’’ She says, and turns to open. ‘’Because they’re here’’

Clark’s stomach drops to his feet. The door swings open to reveal Alfred, a more troubled than usual looking Bruce, and close by his side, what appears to be the ghost of Dick Grayson.

‘’Miss Lane, how lovely to see you’’ Alfred greets them first and Lois leans in for a couple of air kisses.

‘’Come in, come in! The traffic must have been awful!’’

‘’Oh, nothing I can’t handle’’

‘’I bet’’ Lois smiles at him and takes his coat, despite some minor protesting. Clark wonders if he can spontaneously learn how to turn invisible.

‘’Bruce’’ He gives a curt nod. Bruce returns it.

‘’Clark’’

Palms suddenly sweaty, Clark looks down at the hunched figure of a teenager trying very adamantly to ignore him. Dick does his best not meet his eyes. He’s not sure if that makes him feel better or worse.

‘’Hello, Dick’’ Clark can’t fight the stiffness to his voice. It feels foreign, this sudden tension between them. It intrudes in his thoughts, lingers in his chest and despite his best efforts Clark can’t quite manage to sound normal.

It’s Dick, he’s here, he’s alive and while not well, he is _here_. But the kid in his hallway doesn’t look like Dick Grayson anymore.

 ‘’Hey’’ Dick says in a low voice.

Everyone stands in tense silence before Lois has enough. ‘’Alright, come with me!’’

She leads the way into the dining room, Alfred following her swiftly with a reluctant Dick trailing behind. Bruce hangs back a bit and catches Clark’s eye.

‘’You’re being weird’’

‘’I’m not being _weird_ ’’

Bruce glares at him. ‘’Don’t ruin this’’

Clark is half insulted, but for some reason finds it difficult to defend himself. It’s not like Bruce is completely out of line.

‘’Look, Bruce’’ Clark sighs, rubbing his eyes. ‘’I just… I don’t…’’

Bruce regards him in a way that makes Clark feel oddly naked. He hears Lois and Alfred’s chatting from the kitchen and something bitter stains his mouth. He clenches his fists.

‘’You didn’t see what I…’’

‘’I know’’ Bruce says. His voice sinks into a hard, low growl. ‘’And he knows’’

Clark looks as close to helpless as Bruce has ever seen him. Not quite at the end of his rope yet, but getting there. ‘’I don’t want to say the wrong thing or – heck, what if I just make it worse?’’

Bruce sighs. ‘’I’m sure he’s more scared than you’’

‘’How is he? Honestly.’’

Bruce kind of half-shrugs. ‘’He’s been better. Could’ve used your support’’

Clark huffs. It’s not like he hasn’t called, hasn’t asked, hasn’t kept eyes on things. Hasn’t constantly been plagued by the thoughts of what had happened. It might not have been enough but it was all he could do for the time being, all he could muster while staying at a safe distance.

‘’It’s not that simple, Bruce’’

‘’Oh, I _know_ it’s not simple, and I know you are being a coward’’

Clark stops himself from wincing, but can’t find the energy to argue. He’s right. Lois is right, Diana is right. He’s been hiding. The strongest man on Earth, a demigod to some, has been hiding from a fourteen year old kid. It would be funny if it wasn’t so pitiful.

‘’Look, I know you were the first to respond. I know you saw –‘’ Bruce’s voice hardens. ‘’—and I know you are close to him and it’s difficult to see him like this, but that doesn’t matter’’

Clark meets his eyes, blue and bright and lost. Bruce’s firm frown lightens up, just a little.

‘’Clark, it’s difficult for all of us, but it’s harder for him. He needs…’’ Bruce sighs. ‘’He _needs_ support. More than I can give’’

Clark studies his friend for a moment; the harsh jaw line, the unkempt stubble, the wrinkles that seem deeper on his handsome face. His tired, sunken eyes.

‘’Alright’’ Clark says, taking a deep breath. ‘’I’m being an idiot’’

Bruce scoffs. ‘’You are’’

‘’Boys! Food!’’ Lois’ voice calls from the dining room, carried over tunes of calming, classical music.

Clark gestures towards the doorway.

‘’After you’’

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Lunch is horribly uncomfortable. Lois does most of the talking, Alfred most of the replying. Bruce mostly responds in nods and grunts, and Dick doesn’t say anything at all. He plays around with his food, staring into the table cloth like hypnotized by the magnolia pattern. Clark watches him in silence and feels Bruce watch him in turn.

It’s a torturous hour that passes before the meal is finally finished. Lois makes coffee and Alfred helps her with the dishes. Clark panics somewhat because there’s only the three of them now, and the silence is palatable. Sweat pools in the palms of his hands and he has to loosen his tie several times in the span of a few minutes. Bruce is glaring at him from across the table, but Clark has no idea what it means.

‘’Excuse me’’ Bruce says then, conspiratorially. ‘’I think I have to use your restroom’’

Clark gives him a subtle, knowing glare. ‘’To the right down the hall’’

‘’ _Thank_ you’’

Bruce is gone and Clark has never been so sweaty in his life. Dick doesn’t seem to have even noticed Bruce’s departure, still very focused on the table cloth. This provides little comfort as Clark thinks of something to say.

 ‘’Hey’’ He decides, is a good place to start.

Dick flinches. After a long silence, as if trying to process Clark’s presence, he mumbles back. ‘’Hey’’

Now what? Clark has no clue. How do you talk to someone like this? Someone you know, someone you love but no longer recognize? How do you face the reality that you can’t protect the people you love? What do you do when you couldn’t do enough? How does the most powerful man in the world end up being so utterly useless?

‘’I’m…’’

What? _What?_

He isn’t used to feeling this way, to _being_ this way. This can’t be punched or thrown into space, this can’t be reasoned with or burned or frozen or imprisoned.

He looks at him but all he can see is a crying, bleeding mess of a child being brutalized. All he sees is all he couldn’t do. Rapping his knuckles against the table, he tries to drown out the sound of screaming still echoing in his memory. All the laughs and the smells and the horrible things that men do.

He wishes he could see anything else, if just for a second, when he closes his eyes. Just five minutes of peace would be enough.

 ‘’Dick’’ Clark sighs. ‘’I’m sorry’’

Dick looks up at him for the briefest of moments, but almost as if burned, he turns away just as quickly. Clark feels sick to his stomach.

‘’Lois and I… we think about you every day’’

Dick’s jaw clicks.

‘’Dick, look at me’’ Clark says. ‘’ _Please_ ’’

Their eyes meet again. Dick wants to cry but doesn’t. Through some small grace, he doesn’t.

‘’I never stopped looking for you’’

It’s just a small thing, in a quiet voice spoken by a great man, and it is enough. Dick’s so used to crying he doesn’t even notice doing it half the time, but he can feel it now. The burning of his eyes, the way his throat strangles itself trying to breathe through the bile. His hands start shaking as if on cue, and Clark looks at him like he’s the most pitiful thing in the world.

He’s by Dick’s side in a second, doesn’t even think or do it on purpose, just has to be there. Dick has always looked at him like he was the sun, like he put the moon in the sky and made spring bloom. It’s so hard to live up to the expectations of people, people who look to him like the man who fell from the sky. It’s even harder, somehow, to be enough for just one person.  
  
‘’No one blames you’’ Clark says, holding him closely. ‘’Not a single one of us’’

Dick holds a steady grip on Clark’s shirt and tears soak through in seconds. Clark doesn’t mind the snot or the tears, doesn’t care that this is a very expensive shirt and it doesn’t _matter_.

Dick just whines and bawls like he’s five years old again and one of the clowns stole his lunch. But it’s different this time, cleaner, lighter, almost liberating in some sort of way. Like he’s re-emerging from a deep, dark pool, finally breaking the surface to feel air against his face.

‘’Why didn’t you come see me?’’

‘’I wanted to’’ A long silence falls between them during which Dick holds his breath. Clark leans away from him to meet his gaze. ‘’I really did want to, but I was scared’’

‘’Of _what_?’’

Clark can’t help but smile at the look on his face.

‘’To be honest, I don’t really know’’

Dick stares at him in awe, wrapping his head around the fact that the world might be different from how he’s imagined it. That all the little dark thoughts weaved in his mind may not be all that reasonable.

‘’I just… ‘’ Only now does he begin to feel uncomfortable with the tears on his face and makes an effort to dry them.

‘’Just..?’’ Clark nudges him gently.

‘’I couldn’t stop thinking that you didn’t want to see me because I was… different’’

‘’Different?’’

Dick’s face turns a dark shade of red. His skin runs hot to the touch.

‘’Like I was disgusting’’

‘’I would _never_ think that of you!’’ Clark chides, like he’s done something bad, holding his shoulders in a firm grip. ‘’Nothing could ever make me think that’’

Dick tries to look away but Clark keeps catching his gaze. Resolute and unrelenting, his face is bright with a kindness that will not let itself be ignored. Clark squeezes his shoulders.

‘’We’re all so proud of you’’

‘’You should have just left me’’ Dick blurts out, throat closing again. ‘’You should’ve just let me die –’’

‘’ _No’’_ Clark’s bright eyes bore straight into him, hitting him hard and right where it hurts the most. ‘’I would never have left you there. Even if it was the last thing I did, I would have found you, I would have kept looking until you were back home‘’

Something loosens inside him. Something hard and sharp that becomes soft, malleable like warm honey. An uncomfortable sweat plasters his shirt to his back and Dick feels like he’s burning.

‘’I will never forgive myself for not finding you sooner. Dick, are you listening to me?’’ He holds him tighter, as if he is too small and will slip through his grip. ‘’You deserved better than this and it’s _my_ fault, not yours, not by a long shot’’

In the doorway, behind Dick’s back, Bruce watches them grimly, Lois clutching at her mouth behind him. If Dick knows they’re there or not he doesn’t show, lost probably inside his own grief. Clark gives them both an apologetic look over the boy’s head, and he feels the wound inside him ache.

‘’You didn’t deserve this and if I could change it, I would, believe me, I would. But I can’t. I can’t and I’ll have to carry that for the rest of my life’’

Dick doesn’t answer, just cries into his chest until the tears soak through his shirt.

‘’It’s not your fault’’ Dick chokes. ‘’It’s not, it’s not, it’s – He said you wouldn’t come but I – I _knew_ , I knew you would, I _had_ to know that, I had to –‘’

His throat becomes impossibly tight until he can no longer speak. Though he’s not sure he would even have the words. Clark seems to understand, somehow.

Lois looks like she’s fighting tears, but doing a damn good job of it. It doesn’t seem like Dick has any plans on letting Clark go, and Clark doesn’t really mind. The two are left alone as Lois slinks back into the kitchen to pretend to prepare dessert and Bruce pretends to help her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The sun kisses buildings like liquid embers, softly sinking the city into a gentle evening. Dick feels all at once terrified and exhilarated. At the top of the clouds his heart flutters in his mouth, blood rushing loudly through his veins. They are well above it all, leaving behind people and buildings and the bustling of city life. It seems like the sky could go on forever, seamless blue colliding with orange until they become one and the same. 

It’s been so long since he was this high up and his body is alive with electricity. Clark’s grip on him is secure, unbreakable. It’s been so long since he wasn’t afraid and the feeling is almost overwhelming.

‘’I heard you broke out the suit’’ Clark says curiously, slowly drifting. ‘’How was it?’’

‘’Like riding a bike’’

He hums thoughtfully. There is a certain glint in his eye when he speaks next, though Dick convinces himself he’s imagined it.

‘’Are you coming back?’’

Dick grabs onto him harder. His heart shivers momentarily, swelling while the adrenaline runs its course through his body. Dick thinks for a long time, watching everything below them become so small. It’s a fragile world, down there, unpredictable and frightening.

‘’I think so’’ Dick says.

Clark smiles gently.

‘’It’s not going to be easy’’ He says, feeling Dick tense in his arms. ‘’But… few things worth doing are’’

He starts to recognize the landscapes below them. A quilt of fields blends over into forests, slithering into highways that soon give way for skyscrapers and ominous harbor lights. The air seems different here, though he can’t quite put his finger on it.

‘’How do you do it?’’

Clark glances at him curiously. ‘’Fly?’’

‘’I mean… I mean the responsibility. The _pressure_ ’’ He looks away. ‘’The entire world is counting on you’’

Clark remains in thoughtful silence for a while. Dick tries in vain to keep his hair out of his eyes. The wind is stronger here, not terribly so, but enough to whip his hair around like the spinning of cotton candy.

‘’I do feel a bit like Atlas sometimes’’ Clark says eventually. ‘’But I guess it’s a labor of love’’

Dick huffs.

‘’We’re almost there’’ Clark says, prompting Dick to glance down at the ground again. Wayne Manor has started sprouting in the distance and at the sight of it, a cold, churning feeling grips his guts.

Dick doesn’t say anything. Clark takes his time to close the distance; drawing out the moment, savoring the weight of a warm, live body in his arms and tries not to think about the alternative. He’d rather count his blessings.

Clark sets him down gently on the front steps, hair smooth and untouched, while Dick looks like he’s just been spit out by a whirlwind.

‘’I don’t know if I can do it’’ He blurts out suddenly, surprising the both of them.

Clark puts a heavy, gentle hand on his shoulder and gives it a soft squeeze. The ground is solid under his feet and Dick feels uncharacteristically unsteady under the weight.

‘’You’re Robin’’ Clark says. ‘’You’ll figure it out’’

Dick stares at him, the words having done nothing to ease the uncertainty.

‘’Some days the only goal you can have is to see the sun rise the next morning. Sometimes that has to be enough’’

‘’What does that even _mean_?’’

‘’It means sometimes you just have to make the leap’’

Dick lets out a sharp breath.

‘’Look, there’s no magic answer. I wish there was, but even _I_ can’t always be sure of everything. A lot of the time I wonder the same, what if I can’t make it? What if I fail? What if I _let_ everybody _down_?’’ Dick flinches. Clark’s eyes burn warm with compassion. ‘’Don’t let yourself down and the rest… The rest will work out. I promise’'

Dick sighs. Clark gives him one final pat on the shoulder. ‘’Anyway, Bruce and Alfred won’t be home for another hour, so I guess you’ll have to find some way to entertain me’’

Dick rolls his eyes as he turns to unlock the door. The tension between them that had lingered since lunch now is only a thought at the back of the mind. A ghost of a bad memory that while present, is content to wail quietly to itself.

Dick gives him a flippant look.

‘’You ever think of getting into Uber?’’

Clark nudges him through the door.

‘’Ha ha’’ He holds back a smile but can’t quite keep it out of his voice. ‘’Very funny’’

‘’Think about it, I hear there’s good money in it’’

‘’I’m happy being the private chauffeur of the Boy Wonder for now’’

Dick fakes a mock look of awe. ‘’My own Robinmobile? And it runs on solar power!’’

Clark bites his lip, but can only hold his own for a moment. A laugh soon bubbles out of his throat, warm and light like a summer wind. Somehow it spreads, infectious, as Dick feels a gentle tickle in his stomach.

‘’Whatever happens, you know you’re always welcome to Metropolis’’ Clark says then, face shifting into a look of familiar concern. ‘’I haven’t been here for you this past… year…’’

‘’It’s fine’’

‘’It’s not’’ Clark smiles half-heartedly. ‘’But I’m here now and I just want to remind you, our door’s always open’’

Dick regards him for a long, quiet moment. The ticking of a clock echoes from somwehre, unbearably loud to his enhanced hearing. Eventually Dick nods towards the stairs.

‘’Wanna see what Alfred’s done to the patio?’’

‘’There’s a _patio_ now?’’

Dick drags him by the wrist. ‘’Come with me and I’ll show ya’’

The oppressive silence of the mansion and its watchful shadows seem less important now. Less persistent and the haunted feeling in his chest is soon pushed aside by a gentle warmth. Clark’s smell and the evening sun in his eyes is enough, for now, to keep the ghouls at bay.

And he thinks, however briefly, however uncertainly, that maybe, maybe, just _maybe_ , some things can work out. Eventually.

All things can change.


	38. Chapter 38

‘’When he said reconnaissance mission, this isn’t what I had in mind’’

Dick stares in boredom at the large computer screen in front of him. He’s hitched his sunglasses up to rest on his head, seeing as not even the den mother of the week is around, he feels little urge to hide.

The constant live feed through the glass of Wally’s goggles is crisp with less than a second’s delay. Meanwhile dozens of little windows and icons move across the screen, providing data and analyzing every inch of the camera footage. There’s a sort of panic button, direct call to the Watchtower, added as a well meaning but patronizing gesture which he has chosen to ignore.

‘’ _Hey, stop complaining_ ’’ The sound of Wally’s voice helps to still his twitching nerves, easing the tension in his body. ‘’ _At least you’re doing something fun for once’’_

Even though there’s hundreds of miles and a computer screen between them, Dick can’t help but feel slightly nervous. He’s not even in his suit, instead wearing pajama bottoms and slippers, but there is something nerve grinding about being responsible for something again.

‘’I guess’’ Dick sighs

‘’ _And our own private frequency, dude! Kinda romantic if you think about it!_ ’’

Dick wishes he could see Wally’s face as he nearly stumbles over his own feet realizing what he’s just said. ‘’ _Uh – I mean –_ ‘’

‘’Head’s up’’

Dick’s got his eyes on the drones circling the screen’s top right corner. In an effort to ignore his scorching cheeks, he tries calculating their distance from the team.

‘’Head South East’’

Wally turns his course through the forest, sneaking quietly between trees and shrubbery. Dense and thick with animal life, the loud screaming of insects pulsates through the dark.

‘’According to the heat signatures the west corridor should be clear’’

Wally arrives at a large, square building. What it lacks in imaginative design it more than makes up for in security. Two of the robotic security dogs have already been disabled by M’gann and Artemis, but Wally remains alert.

‘’ _I’m going in_ ’’

Dick searches the computer screen for any indication of trouble. He can see Kaldur’s and Conner’s heat signatures moving around the perimeters, scouting for any potential interruptions, while Artemis and M’gann’s avatars move across the map on the screen. His eyes fall on the cartoonish icon of M’gann’s face as it moves into the Eastern wing.

‘’Hey –‘’ Dick says, feeling his throat dry up. ‘’What’s up with M’gann?’’

‘’ _Uh, I have no idea what you mean_ ’’ Wally says with a voice that does little to convince him.

‘’Come on, man, she’s been avoiding me like I’ve got fleas’’

‘’ _Maybe she’s got other stuff on her mind! I don’t know. Girls are weird_ ’’

‘’Other stuff?’’

‘’ _Like… girl things?’_ ’

Dick glares at the screen. ‘’Honesty goes both ways, KF’’

Wally lets out an exasperated sigh. He glances around the corner, ducking back at the sight of two guardian robots. Crouching close to the ground he whispers as quietly as he can into the communicator. ‘’ _Dude, not a good time!_ ’’

Dick grinds his teeth together. Something that’s become a habit lately, and most likely the cause for his nearly constant headaches. Maybe Wally has a point. He should be focusing on the mission, not on his own stupid anxieties; most likely they’ll still be there when he’s done. It would be easier to break his own bones than to force himself away from dark and bitter thoughts, but he has to try. If not for himself then at least for the team.

‘’Okay, you’ve got two there, two of them are five hundred meters down the hall and one more around the corner, but that’s it’’

‘’ _Got it’_ ’

Wally’s off in less than a second.  The hallway is clear in less than two. He throws the dismantled weapons on the floor next to skittering machinery, struggling against the constraint of their own wiring. Wally badly chokes down a childish snicker and gets going again.

‘’ _Hey, we make a good team_!’’

‘’Uh huh’’

‘’ _Dude, don’t sulk, I swear I’ll tell you when I get back!’’_

Dick sighs. ‘’Fine’’

‘' _Hey’’_

‘’What?’’

‘’ _It’s good to have you back, man’_ ’

Dick feels like a bit of a jerk, but he’s getting used to that by now.

‘’ _You should be here, buddy, it’s not the same without you! Not too late to come out here, you know_ ’’

‘’Gordon said if he sees me out there in my suit again I’m going straight to juvie’’

‘’ _What if you wear a different suit?’’_

‘’Don’t suppose you got one lying around?’’ 

Wally skillfully ignores the sarcasm in his voice.

_‘’I think I should have some suits back at the HQ’’_

‘’Gonna be too big for me, buddy’’

_‘’Uhm , first of all: rude. Second of all: it conforms to the wearer's body! I’m sure you’ll look smashing’’_

 ‘’And what? Am I calling myself KF Two?’’

 ‘’ _Come on! Just get changed and get your ass out here’’  
_

‘’There’s nothing for me to do there!’’ He throws his arms in the air, though the gesture is lost to the unseeing face of the computer. Rubbing at his eyes, Dick feels overcome with exhaustion. The kind of tiredness that aches in the bones. He opens his mouth to argue, but despite how much he wants to, he can’t find the words to do so.

The hooks of his fear that holds him back can’t hide the itching in his fingers. He goes through the motions despite the nervous tremble in the back of his spine. Despite the memories which push and scratch, clawing their way through his brain. It’s difficult to keep from straying into dark places, but it’s not impossible. 

 ‘’I’m needed here’’

‘’ _BS!_ ’’

‘’Language’’

‘’ _Dude, I respect your space and everything, but you said it yourself, this isn’t what you had in mind_ ’’

‘’I’m gonna mute you if you don’t stop talking’’

‘’ _You can mute me, but you can’t mute the truth!_ ’’

‘’Evil goons, three o’clock’’

‘’ _This isn’t over!_ ’’ Wally narrowly escapes an incoming projectile. It soars over his head, crashing behind him and taking out most of the far wall. The camera footage is shaky as he rolls across the floor, even worse as he flips himself to his feet to fistfight another robot. 

‘’ _Anyway_ -’’

‘’How would I even get out there?’’

_‘’I’ll pick you up!’’_

Dick lies face down on the desk, ignoring the beeping of his forehead hitting the keys.

‘’Maybe next time’’

The sound of an explosion brings his attention back to the screen. Panic runs through his heart like a current as he scrambles to find everyone’s vital signs.

‘’I thought this was a covert recon mission!’’ Dick hisses at Wally. Despite everyone seeming okay, he can’t quite get his heart to slow down. The itching in his fingers gets worse. If he could just have _been_ there, he could’ve made sure everything went okay, rather than being stuck like some useless eye in the sky, just an impotent observer.

‘’ _I mean, it’s probably the longest we’ve gone without a fire, so far, so, yay?_ ’’

Dick groans into his hands. ‘’This is ridiculous’’ 

‘’ _Yeah, well, next time you can come along and do it yourself!_ ’’ Wally sounds mildly offended, but Dick doesn’t have the energy to argue. Finally getting his heartbeat into order, he wipes the sweat from his palms and gets back to the task at hand.

‘’Files are downloading’’

‘’ _Already_? _’’_

_‘’_ Yeah’’ Dick says and watches the transfer window on the screen. ‘’Kaldur’s sending them to me right now’’

‘’ _Well, yatzy for us! Guess that means it’s time to think about dinner_ ’’

Dick rolls his eyes, even if Wally can’t see it.

‘’Just get everyone back in one piece, Kid Mouth’’

Wally gives him a thumbs up in front of the goggles.

‘’ _Aye, cap’n_!’’

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘’Great job, my friend’’ Kaldur gently pats his shoulder, hesitant at first, but encouraged as the tension in Dick’s body releases.

Dick greets them by the teleporter, anxious like waiting for a warship to come into port. He tries not to appear obviously concerned though; it’s just a mission, routine, no biggie. He shouldn’t be so nervous and honestly, he’s not quite sure  _what_ he’s so worried about. Maybe it’s just the knowledge that anything can go wrong at any moment or that he’d be powerless to stop it.

‘’All I did was watch a monitor and run some scripts, not that hard’’

‘’Don’t sell yourself short’’ Raquel says with a friendly wink.

Dick realizes her arm’s in a cast, complete with signatures from everyone. He suspects Zatanna’s done some sort of spell, but it could’ve been there before. He honestly wouldn’t have noticed.

‘’Hey, Rocket, how’s the arm?’’

‘’Been better’’ She grimaces. ‘’Been worse’’

‘’What happened?’’

‘’Oh, you know, robot dogs and minor explosions, nothing special!’’

Dick opens his mouth to say something, but realizes it’s pointless. Talking sense into vigilantes has never been easy, and he definitely doesn’t have the strength for it today.

Only briefly glancing at the others, he catches M’gann staring at him with an unreadable expression. Without a word and with painful urgency, M’gann looks away. Before he’s had a chance to say anything, she’s already left the room, abandoning him in the cold wake of their mutual tension.

Conner sends him a strange, apologetic look he doesn't know how to read. The rest just pretend, though uncomfortably, like nothing’s happened. A foul and putrid feeling boils in his stomach that he recognizes as rage.

‘’Dude, just leave it alone’’ Wally tries in vain to stop the fire from spreading, but Dick is too irate to listen. He’s already raging forward like the billowing smoke of a forest succumbed to flames. In a last attempt at damage control Kaldur gently grabs his arm.

‘’Robin, please, she needs time’’

‘’What did I  _do_?’’

To Kaldur’s surprise he doesn’t sever the grip. Rather, he remains steady, searching his friend’s face for an answer he knows he won’t like. There is a moment of hesitation before Kaldur speaks that makes his blood run cold.

‘’She saw your memories’’

He blinks at him, wondering if maybe he’s imagining it, if he’s dissociating and hearing things again that haven’t been said.

‘’What?’’

‘’When Superman was here and you had your… When you --’’ He frowns. ‘’I am uncertain of the specifics, but it appears you unwillingly released your memories and her mind picked up on it. It was quite shocking for Miss Martian’’

The room won’t stop spinning. It only goes faster and faster until he can’t tell up from down anymore, until air becomes impossible to push into his lungs and he thinks he might implode on himself.

‘’Robin!’’

Dick snaps out of it, trying to clear the fog from his head, but he still feels as if shaken around by a great whirlwind, tumbling down a steep hillside and hitting every rock on the way down.

‘’There’s nothing to be ashamed of’’

‘’Oh, really, Kal?’’ He manages to speak, finally, his voice rough and painful. It’s impossible to fight the feeling that everybody in the world has become his enemy. ‘’ _Nothing_ to be ashamed of? I’m sorry, when was the last time someone saw  _you_ get raped?’’

Kaldur’s face pales immediately and Dick regrets what he’s said as soon as it’s left his mouth. The words echo in his own head and every beat of his heart is like a thorn pressed into his chest, but it’s too late now. The pain burns too hot to stop, and he might as well keep going.

‘’It is true, I have no idea what that feels like’’ Kaldur says, choosing his words carefully. ‘’But you should know better by now than to think anyone here would think badly of you’’

‘’So why isn’t she even looking at me?’’ His voice breaks on the last syllables and he’d be embarrassed if it happened before all of this, but he has much worse things to be ashamed of now. All the while a furious mantra beats through his skull. Disgusting, disgusting, horrible, terrible, useless, awful, useless,  _useless –_

‘’Oh, just use your brain for once!’’ Artemis shouts, finally losing the valiant fight against her own anger. ‘’She’s upset! She’s scared, she’s  _traumatized_ , one of her best friends had to go through that! What the hell do you think?’’

Dick’s legs tremble underneath his weight, but he pushes Kaldur off of him. Well meaning hands are like burning embers, searing through his skin in all the wrong ways. He knows he’s acting crazy, gasping through his teeth for any semblance of air, but he can barely find it in himself to see straight, let alone care. It’s not like he’s got any dignity left to protect.

‘’I gotta get out of here’’

‘’It’s  _okay_ ’’

‘’No, it’s not okay, Artemis, it’s not fucking okay!’’  Dick stifles a shout, biting his teeth down so hard they ache. The world just keeps spinning.

‘’Just go talk to her’’ Dick had almost forgotten Conner was there until he speaks. Dick looks at him like he’s never heard English before.

‘’About what?’’

‘’Whatever it takes’’

‘’You may find solace in sharing this burden’’ Kaldur says. Wally’s eyes dart between them like a powder keg about to blow, body ready to spring into action should chaos ensue.

‘’I don’t know what the hell is going on’’ Rocket interrupts with varying degrees of discomfort playing across her face. ‘’But somebody better go talk to that girl, she hasn’t had her head in the game for a  _long_ time’’

‘’You guys –‘’ Dick narrows his eyes, staring at Kaldur. ‘’You didn’t tell them?’’

‘’Nobody told me anything!’’ Rocket says with just a hint of exasperation.

‘’Or me’’ Zatanna adds carefully.

‘’I know we just joined the team recently –‘’

‘’Not even  _that_ recently’’

‘’Look, I get it, some things are private and we know that Robin went through some horrible things, but if you’e gonna keep us out of the loop, at least give a girl a warning so we can get the hell out of here first! We don’t mind!’’

The others all share a look of mild guilt. A thick and heavy tension sinks over the room, crushing him like nothing, and he wishes he could just rewind the past year of his life.

But he’s here now. And so are they, and J’onn most likely won’t go away anytime soon.

‘’Look’’ Wally says, trying not to sound defensive but failing badly. ‘’You guys are part of the team, but this is kind of personal’’

‘’We get that’’ Zatanna says, a bit more aggressively than intended. ‘’But it would be cool if you guys could pretend like we’re at least in the room!’’

Raquel nods. ‘’If you want us to give you some privacy, just say so, but don’t be rude and treat us like furniture’’

‘’Okay, okay!’’ A powerful headache has begun to spread between Dick’s temples, drilling through his head. ‘’I’ll go talk to her, okay? Forget any of this happened’’ He waves his hand as if he could magically erase the past few minutes from reality. ‘’Raquel, feel better. The rest of you, go eat dinner. I’ll deal with this’’

‘’Dude!’’ Wally’s call falls on deaf ears, like it so often does, and Dick storms away before anyone can see the burning hot humiliation on his face.

‘’ _Man_ , he’s annoying when he does that’’

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘’Hey’’

Dick sticks his head through the crack in the door, letting the stark hallway light intrude on the gentle dark of M’gann’s room, lit only by a pair of lavender candles.

‘’Hey’’

M’gann floats down from the air to land cross legged on the floor. It feels weird to be looking down at her, so he sits down too. The tension between them is heavy, but he had expected silence. What he hadn’t expected, was tears.

‘’I’m sorry you had to see that’’ Is all he can think of saying, because he is. He’s sorry about a lot of things, none of which he seems able to fix. Everything around him feels so far beyond control, he thinks he might drown in the futility of it all. ‘’I never meant to - if I’d known, I –‘’

‘’No!’’ She half shouts at him but quickly regrets it. ‘’I mean I - I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to handle this by your own’’

Dick is at a loss for words. He’s become so used to its erratic drumming he barely notices the speeding of his heart.

‘’I’m so sorry we pushed you, we just didn’t _understand_ ‘’

‘’I…’’ His mouth remains open in the vain hope that by some miracle words will just fall out and fix everything.

M’gann wipes her tears. ‘’I wish I could get it out of my head, but then I think – so do  _you_ ’’

His mouth twists into a mixed grimace of sympathy and grief.

‘’I never wanted you to see that’’ He says very quietly.

‘’I know’’ She says. ‘’I  _know_ ’’

‘’It’s not fair, M’gann, it’s not your problem! Or at least it  _shouldn’t_ be‘’

‘’But is  _is_ , Robin‘’ He feels her eyes cut him like hooks, the beckoning hands of her sadness pulling at him, trying to lead him, urging him to understand. ‘’You’re our  _friend_ , you’re our – our family! And families carry burdens together! I learned that from all of you’’

Dick fights against the overwhelming sense of dark emotions he can’t ever seem to name, but always recognizes like a gaping hole in his guts. Like being ripped open, stomach laid bare for all to see and to pick at his entrails. Her gentle, urging eyes remain on him while the filth fills every inch of his body. Every time he thinks he can’t feel any worse it seems he’s always proven wrong.

‘’Robin’’

‘’Dick’’ He says, taking the glasses from his face. He turns them over in his hands as gently as with a baby bird. ‘’You can just call me Dick. It’s short for Richard, by the way’’

M’gann smiles through her tears.

‘’I like Richard, it suits you’’

Dick puts his face in his hands and heaves a heavy sigh as all strength seems to visually leave his body. ‘’Whenever I think things can’t get any worse…’’

‘’I’m sorry’’

‘’No’’ he says, frowning. ‘’ _I’m_ sorry. Have you – are you talking to anyone about it?’’

‘’Are you?’’

‘’I’m serious’’

‘’So am I’’ They stare at each other. She sighs. ‘’Canary and I see each other every day. It… it helps. I’m dreaming less, especially with meditation’’

Not for the first time, he’s filled with the heavy, tired urge to die. The thought of his worst moments displayed to someone like that, someone he cares about, not only knowing that he’s hurt her, but that she knows parts of him he himself tries to forget. He wishes he could cut it all out of himself, like a bad growth, before it consumes him entirely. Before it consumes everything. It seems whatever he touches only gets infected by misery.

‘’I could see how frightened you were’’

Dick fists his pants, teeth grinding together like millstones. A small voice in the back of his head that sounds a bit like J’onn, reminds him to breathe. Reminds him to feel the carpet under him, the smell of the room, the sounds of the world he is so desperately close to sliding away from.

‘’I never should have let my thoughts go. I know better than that, I’ve been trained –‘’

‘’For crying out loud, it wasn’t your fault! Not _everything_ can be your fault all the time!’’

They stare at each other in silence. A mild blush burns his neck as he stews in embarrassment.

‘’I wish I could forget’’

‘’Me too’’ She grimaces. ‘’But we can’t. We have to accept what we’ve… seen. What you’ve been through. You  _have_ to accept that it’s going to hurt, even if it feels unfair’’

‘’I’m trying’’

She grabs his hand in hers. ‘’I know’’

‘’It  _will_ get better for you’’ She says. ‘’But it’s probably going to feel worse before it feels better, like… like going to the dentist! You know? Not that I’ve been to an Earth dentist, but I’ve seen movies and… and… you know’’

Dick sighs, but there is a forlorn smile hiding in the corner of his mouth.

‘’Yeah, I’ve been to the dentist once or twice’’

She mirrors his heavy smile.

‘’You guys taught me so much, helped me _so_ much. When I hated myself, you guys… helped me learn to love myself and I know we can do that for you, too!’’

Dick scoffs. ‘’Easier said than done’’

She stares at him in pained silence, mouth a tight, thin line. It hurts to look her in the eyes.

‘’Meditate with me. I promise it’ll help, even just a little bit’’

Dick exhales through his nose, reminding her of a horse. Turning the glasses over absentmindedly in his hands, they only tremble a little.

‘’Okay’’

She squeezes his hand once more before she lets go.

‘’And whatever you think I think about you, it’s not true’’

Dick just stares at her with eyes like wounds, full of regret over things that can’t be undone. If only, if only, if only echoes silently between them.

But those thoughts are pointless now. Things happen, and that’s it. He can’t change the past.

‘’Thanks’’

But maybe he can still change the future.


	39. Chapter 39

It’s not a common occurrence, but it does happen. On occasion, usually due to lack of space, they’ll share a bed or couch, sometimes even the floor. But this time it feels so intensely vulnerable. Especially since Dick has his own room, but for some reason what had started as a late night of video games and flat Dr Pepper, ends with them both passed out on the couch. Sometime after the sun had set and their eyes had gotten heavy, at that twilight hour when everything is alright with the world, if only for a passing moment.

Dick latches onto him during the night. Though Wally's tried to pry him off, the kid is still surprisingly strong, even more so since gaining weight. Wally supposes it must be difficult, being someone raised on touch. Dick's always been touchy feely, slow to open up and always emotionally reserved even to those who love him most, but he has always spoken more with his body than with his words.

Wally thinks it’s partly a remnant from the old circus days, back when a touch meant the difference between life or death. But there’s also just something about Dick, something starved, something insatiable. His need for affection is a fire only fuelled by Bruce’s own emotional shortcomings. To have something he craves so innately become corrupted like that, is something Wally doesn’t want to imagine. He’s also not one to deprive him of it.

While he can’t shake the feeling like he’s doing something wrong, when Dick finally awakes with a yawn, he doesn't move away. Wally turns to look at him in wait for some kind of response, a signal that can tell him what to do. Under the thin blanket and with his ruffled hair, he looks young and familiarly impish.

Dick stares at him, but doesn't move. Wally stares back but can’t manage to focus his sleepy eyes. Studying his face, Dick relaxes more and more into his rhythmic breathing. The light washing through  copper lashes makes them seem transparent, while the gentle pitter patter of Wally’s heart beats steadily under Dick's hand.

Without warning and unable to explain, he’s overcome by a strange feeling. A strong and urgent sensation, physical to a degree, as if dying of thirst while wading in water. He has no idea what to name the emotion, less so how to quench it. All he knows is that he needs _something_ , now, right the hell now or he might go completely crazy.

Wally realizes he’s breathing heavily, quick and short breaths like punches, and he gently nudges Dick’s shoulder. His eyes widen in an instant, blank and cold with flecks of fear spreading through like stains on paper. Registering his friend’s face, finally, in the foggy cobwebbed mess of his mind, Dick snatches his hand away and sits up, pretending  the red flush on his face is just a trick of the light.

Quickly getting off the couch, he excuses himself, escaping to the bathroom where he spends a good twenty minutes just staring at the wall, curled up on the toilet with his knees pulled in close. Wally eventually musters the courage to knock on the door.

‘’Dude, are you okay?’’

‘’I’m fine’’ Dick says but his voice doesn’t fully carry.

‘’It’s fine if you’re not! Sorry, man, I guess I just kinda fell asleep, shouldn’t have played for so long’’

‘’I’m absolutely fantastic. Never been better’’

‘’Kinda sounds like you woke up on the wrong side. Want to, I dunno, maybe _talk_ about it?’’

Wally honestly doesn’t expect him to reply; he’s an optimist but not an idiot. But Dick surprises him with a low, raspy voice. His speech comes out pressured, fast and tight with the rigidity of calcified bone.

‘’I don’t know’’ He says. ‘’I just…’’

Wally bites his tongue and tries to be patient. Only seconds of silence pass, but seconds might as well be hours to him

Dick can feels his pulse in his teeth, his breaths tight and restricted as he tries his hardest not to hyperventilate. His skin is alive with a warm tingling, which isn’t an unpleasant sensation, not at all, but his heart is reeling like the tickle in his stomach when at the very steepest drop of a roller coaster.

‘’It’s okay, Wally, I just need to…’’ He inhales deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring. Unclenching his jaws, he feels the hard, metallic twisting in his stomach lighten as he allows himself to let go. ‘’I’m not mad at you’’

There’s a moment of silence from behind the door. ‘’You sure?’’

‘’Yeah’’ Dick takes another deep breath. ‘’Yeah, it’s fine, I’m just… Not used to it, you know?’’

‘’Okay’’

‘’Everything’s happening so fast. I’m not sure I can always keep up… and…’’ Dick pauses again and clears his throat which has gone painfully dry. ‘’I don’t know. Things are tricky to get used to, I guess’’

‘’It’s normal to have some growing pains. You’re doing a good job, though!’’

Dick doesn’t hear him leave, but he doesn’t say anything either, so he’s unsure if Wally’s still on the other side of the door, until he knocks again, nearly making him jump off the toilet completely. 

‘’Dude, I’m gonna make breakfast, you want some toast?’’

Dick gets to his feet and walks over to the sink in an effort to collects himself.  Leaning against the sink, the cool marble helps to ground him. Staring at the drain, he becomes almost hypnotized by the dark depths of the pipe, as if he could be sucked inside and disappear completely. He barely hears himself reply with a hoarse voice.

‘’Sure’’

‘’O… Okay’’ Wally says. ‘’I’ll uh, go get it ready, buddy’’

‘’Great’’ Dick sighs to himself. ‘’Just fantastic’’

Running the faucet, he splashes his face with ice cold water and waits for his pulse to slow down.

  


* * *

 

 

Dick’s been staring at the buzzing TV screen for the past half hour, all alone in the giant, echoing maw of the mountain.

The team’s all been splintered into their own separate lives; he has trouble remembering who went where to do what, but it doesn’t really matter as he finds himself on the couch, contemplating nothing as static hums in his head, much like on the TV in front of him. So far he hasn’t had the mental strength to reach for the remote and turn something on. Even if he did, he’s not sure he could find it in himself to focus.

Even when the teleporter activates and announces Black Canary’s arrival, he has to struggle to care. His glasses still rest on the top of his head, but he finds no point in moving them. Everyone already knows too much about him, one more thing doesn’t seem to make a difference, in the grand scheme of things. Besides, it’s not like the League isn’t privy to his identity. It’s all just a matter of pleasantries and he doesn’t have the energy to even pretend to care about it now.

‘’Robin’’ She seems surprised, though she most likely knew he would be here. She follows his blank stare to the screen, their reflections staring back at her. Dick hums in acknowledgement. ‘’You know you need to turn it on for it to work, right?’’

Dick doesn’t answer. Just keeps staring like he’s looking far beyond their plane of existence. Truth be told, it’s starting to make her a bit uncomfortable. She takes a moment to consider her next move before approaching the couch.

‘’I thought you’d left for Gotham?’’

‘’No’’  He answers curtly.

Dinah doesn’t let it discourage her. Considering if it’s a better idea to sit down and appear less towering, or to keep her distance, she remains standing by the edge.

‘’It helps if you talk about it’’

Dick glances at her from the corner of his eye. ‘’Nothing to talk about’’

Despite knowing his face already, seeing him like this feels wrong. It seems almost naked, under the circumstances, and she has to fight the urge to look away. Dick returns her stare with unwavering blue eyes like none of it matters. And maybe it doesn’t.

‘’There’s _some_ thing’’ Dick says then, surprising her, before he turns back to the TV. ‘’I can’t tell J’onn about it’’

‘’Why not?’’

‘’He wouldn’t understand’’

‘’Okay’’ Dinah says, eyes sharp like a cat that’s just spotted something interesting. She honestly didn’t think she’d get this far. ‘’I’m listening’’

‘’It’s –‘’ He breathes out a sharp breath between his teeth. ‘’Stupid, actually, never mind’’

Dinah sits down on the couch, still far away from him on the other end. Despite this he defensively curls up into a ball of legs and frowns. It’s almost a little bit endearing, if she’s honest.

‘’Robin’’ She uses her gentlest, kindest voice. ‘’I’m not here to judge you’’’

Dick huffs, playing with his hair. It really has gotten too long, but he can’t find the energy to do something about it. Even if it has started to look a bit like a mullet at this point. Alfred’s a fine enough barber but Dick doesn’t feel comfortable having sharp scissors near his face and shaving it off with a machine seems a bit drastic.

‘’It feels stupid’’ He mumbles reluctantly. ‘’I mean, in the middle of everything going on...’’

Dinah narrows her eyes, curiously, as a flash goes off in her head. ‘’I think I know where this is going’’

Dick stares at her in barely concealed panic.

‘’You can’t tell anyone’’

‘’I swear on my mother’s grave’’ Her hand quickly moves in the sign of the cross over her chest. ‘’Now, what’s on your mind?’’

‘’I might have a…’’ He stares at his hands as if they’ll be able to help him. A blush creeps up his neck, blossoming into a blanket of red across his face. ‘’This is stupid, forget it –‘’

‘’Is this about a girl?’’

Dick glances at her cryptically. ‘’Sort of’’

Dinah’s eyes are kind but otherwise unreadable, with something knowing about her face that he doesn’t really like.

‘’Alright’’ She says softly. ‘’And you’re feeling conflicted about it’’

‘’You could say that’’

She’s quiet for a moment. ‘’Does this person know what happened?’’

Dick swallows. There is something so reverent about the silence between them. A tension like a violin string, taut but not entirely ugly. While his skin burns hot with discomfort, her presence is cool and gentle like a breeze.

‘’Yeah’’ Dick wrings his hands. ‘’Yeah, more or less’’

‘’And are they aware you feel this way?’’

Dick looks at her like she’s just suggested something horrifying, pushing back into the couch in an instinctive attempt to get away from her.

‘’No way! Are you crazy?!’’

‘’Sorry’’ Dinah puts her hands up. ‘’Just asking’’

‘’I can’t tell him that, he’s my best friend! And anyway, what’s the point? It would just make things complicated! I just want things to be –‘’

‘’Normal?’’

Dick opens his mouth, trying to say something, which proves a failure. He sinks back into the couch, face burning too hot now, looking at her becomes impossible.

‘’What makes you think the feelings aren’t mutual?’’

Dick just glares at her.

‘’Or maybe –‘’ Dinah continues, mouth pursed, looking at him like he’s the most curious thing. ‘’That’s what you’re afraid of’’

Dick flares his nostrils and starts to regret ever saying anything at all. He feels sticky hot inside, like his skin is too small. It doesn’t matter how cool and kind and understanding her eyes are, how gentle her voice is, how much she tries to seem like she gets it. She doesn’t get it. Nobody gets it. Not a single person on earth could possibly ever understand.

‘’You don’t have to do anything you don’t want’’

‘’I _know_ that’’ Dick snaps, crossing his arms.

‘’Do you?’’

Her eyes bore into him like claws and Dick finds himself left in stupefied silence.

‘’It must be frustrating and confusing and frightening, not only is it your friend, but with everything that’s happened, it must be difficult to reconcile these feelings with your bad memories’’

‘’No offense, Canary, but I think this is a bear better left _un_ poked’’

Dinah watches him for a moment, thinking her words over very carefully, in the manner of a tactician planning their strategy for war.

‘’You’re at the age where you start thinking about these things and you’ve been through something traumatic, something that’s interrupted your… adolescence, if you will. Like the snapping of a tendon’’ She snaps her fingers for effect and he flinches at the sound. ‘’It throws everything out of sync and for you, growing up is going to be a bit different. It always has been, ever since you lost your family, ever since you became Robin, but in your own time, at your own pace, when you feel comfortable to do so, you can explore these feelings just like any other teenager’’

She wants to reach for his shoulder and almost does so, but his jaws are tense and twitching and she decides against it, settling for a warm and understanding smile. ‘’You don’t have to rush into anything that makes you feel unsafe’’

Dick’s eyes are dark with humiliation and he struggles not to look away. ‘’Can you just leave me alone?’’

‘’Are you scared he would reject you because of what happened?’’

‘’I said leave me alone!’’ Dick’s voice which had been low and raspy, now grows into a shout that rips through his throat as gently as sandpaper.

‘’Alright’’ Dinah stands up. ‘’But if you need someone to talk to about these things, you know where to find me’’

He waits for her to leave before he throws the remote against the wall, smattering into pieces. With a deep sigh he sinks into the couch as if boneless, feeling his hearts angry but exhausted beats.

Burying his face in a pillow that smells like wet dog, he lets out a muffled groan.

‘’Crap’’

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The room is damp and dark, lit by a few light bulbs casting a cold white light around the room. It smells like mold, like wood rot and sweat. It’s hard to tell what kind of building it is, but it looks like a morgue, he thinks.

‘’How are you feeling?’’ the apparition of J’onn says, watching him with steady eyes.

Dick takes a deep breath, his hands are shaking and dripping with sweat, but he can’t give up yet. It’s only a room. An empty room that isn’t even _real_.

‘’I’m fine’’

He’s not really, but good enough. J’onn nods. Dick inspects the room, the slabs covered in years of grime and dust. Every step he takes is sticky, every breath he takes echoes between the naked walls. He walks up to the one table that differs from the others. Modified with restraints fastened to its surface, he starts to hyperventilate as soon as the smell of leather hits him.

‘’It is alright’’ J’onn reminds him.

‘’This is it’’ Dick whispers, fingers gently brushing against the slab. Though it is just a figment of his imagination, conjured by his memories, it feels cold and hard to the touch.

‘’This is where you were tied down’’

‘’Yeah’’

Dick’s voice is breathless, his throat strangling itself trying to catch painful gasps of air. The room morphs around them, responding to his emotions, and begins to change.

‘’Dick –‘’ J’onn says in a warning voice. It’s important not to bombard the boy with too much at once, but they also need to plunge.

‘’It’s not real’’ Dick says to himself. ‘’It’s just in my head’’

‘’How are you feeling?’’

‘’I’m –‘’ Dick looks around the room frantically, the bulbs swinging silently back and forth as the walls change. They grow darker and grimier, splattered with blood and he can smell it now. Heavy in the air with iron and steel, he can smell something burning. ‘’I’m scared’’

He can taste blood in his mouth.

‘’What are you thinking?’’

Dick tries to calm his breaths, but it’s so hard.

‘’Why _me_?’’

J’onn watches the scene before them, the cold light shining down on Dick’s memory of the room. Or rather, his mind’s approximation of what had happened. All the while a strong smell of leather permeates the air.

‘’Some things are beyond our control, we must accept this as truth before we can learn to cope’’

‘’I –‘’ Dick swallows, something twists in his gut and he can feel the nausea pushing at the back of his mouth. ‘’I shouldn’t have gotten caught, if I just –‘’

‘’What?’’ J’onn looks at him, intently. ‘’If you just _what_?’’

Dick’s gasping for air, his breath sucked out of him, like he’s been punched. He has to steady himself against a nearby slab, and it’s strange that even in this incorporeal form, he feels weak and heavy.

‘’I don’t know –‘’ Dick trembles and slides to his knees. J’onn appears beside him wordlessly. ‘’I don’t know’’

‘’It was out of your control’’ J’onn says, looking at his memory. ‘’You cannot ask more of yourself and you cannot change it. You must accept this to move forward’’

Dick takes a shaky breath. Even if he wanted to speak, his mouth has dried up, his throat painfully twisted into itself as his chest becomes a vacuum.

‘’Should we stop here?’’

Dick looks at J’onn as if he’s forgotten, momentarily, that none of this is real. It’s just a memory, a bad dream, but it happened. It happened and it was real, he was there and he has to _deal_ with that, whatever the hell that means.

He awakes with a gasp, like he’s been under water for too long. His heart beats frantically before he realizes where he is, before the walls of the library come back into focus and he realizes he’s on the  floor. There’s a pillow under his head, and J’onn is sat down next to him.

Dick feels something inside him loosen, and a flood of pain, of fear and of _relief_ washes over him. He doesn’t stop himself from crying, just lets the tears fall, not choking back the sobs, not trying to still his trembling. Dick just cries.

‘’You did better than last time’’ J’onn says and hands him a cup of Jasmine tea.

Sitting up, he takes it in trembling hands, trying to let the smell calm him. ‘’Guess I didn’t vomit this time around’’

J’onn nods. ‘’You were under for longer, also. I think your mind is learning not to run away from this particular memory’’

Dick sighs, wiping snot away with the back of his hand.  ‘’It’s so hard’’

‘’Indeed’’

‘’I didn’t expect it to be this _hard_ ’’

J’onn takes a sip of his own  tea, a biscuit delicately balancing on his knee. He hands one to Dick, who grabs it with no will to actually eat it. Stomach a mess of puttering acids, he remains holding it absentmindedly between shaking fingers.

‘’Have you thought any more of what we discussed?’’

Dick glares a the floor. ‘’Maybe’’

‘’If you attend summer school you may only be held back one semester’’

He rolls his eyes. ‘’Yay, maybe I can actually be bullied for something _other_ than my age’’

‘’You have to return, at some point. The longer you wait the more difficult it will be to reintegrate’’

J’onn leaves forward slightly to give him an urging look. ‘’If you told me about your anxieties we could find ways for you to cope with them. It does not have to be the end of the world, though it may feel as such’’

Dick just grimaces.

‘’I wasn’t exactly Mr. Popular before, I doubt suicidal freakshow is gonna improve my chance at becoming homecoming king’’

J’onn can’t help but smile.

‘’I think you will do just fine’’

Dick puts the biscuit down on the silver tray between them. Mainly to avoid the conversation, he takes a long sip of tea despite it being too hot to drink. It burns down his throat, landing hot in his stomach and he feels mildly sick. Though that might not be entirely because of the tea.

‘’I’ll think about it’’

J’onn nods, a thoughtful line creased across his brow. He blows gently on his tea.

‘’That is all I ask’’

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Wally’s interrupted in his marathon of every last one of the Rocky movies by the unexpected arrival of his friend.

‘’Hey’’ Dick walks into the mountain with slow steps, almost dragging himself along the floor. Wally gives the duffel bag across his shoulder a strange look.

‘’Yo, what’s with the luggage?’’ He says in-before a long, loud sip from a big soda cup he appears to have acquired from Japan. Dick gives him an odd look and Wally, clearing his throat, inexplicably looks away.

‘’What’s with the cup?’’

‘’Oh, uncle Barry and me had to stop a thing in Tokyo. Pretty cool, you should come with me there someday!  Anyway, I asked you first. Sleepover again?’’

Dick shrugs. ‘’Don’t feel like being much at the mansion, lately’’

His friend nods thoughtfully, staring at the muted TV screen. ‘’Makes sense, that place is kind of a downer’’

A long silence falls between them, and he thinks he’s never been this uncomfortable around his friend before. It’s like an itchiness in his skin and he keeps having to wipe sweat away from his face. Awkwardly looking around the room, Dick finally decides to say something.

‘’Look, about last time…’’

‘’Dude, don’t worry about it! It was my bad, I should’ve cut the night short way earlier’’

‘’It’s… It’s not that… I mean…’’ Dick huffs, glaring at him in a sudden determination. Ignoring the way his stomach rumbles, swallowing down the acid in his mouth, he decides to keep pushing forward.

Wally glances at him from the corner of his eye, taking another loud sip.

‘’We’re best pals, right?’’

Wally’s eyes widen like he’s been mortally insulted. ‘’Of course, dude! _Best_ of the best! Why?!’’

‘’It’s just…’’ Dick bites his cheek, wiping his palms against his jeans. No matter how many hours his brain spends ticking away, thinking about this from every possible angle, dissecting it until he feels like he’s tied his brain into a pretzel; when he’s actually standing here looking at him, it seems there are no words in the world to convey any of it.

‘’What are you watching?’’ He says instead.

Wally glances at the TV, then back to him. ‘’Rocky II’’

‘’Oh, man’’

‘’Uh huh’’

Dick fidgets awkwardly. ‘’Want some company?’’

‘’Uh, is water wet?’’

Dick huffs. Throwing his duffel bag on the floor, he hops onto the couch. At first content to sit on the backrest, as the movie gradually progresses, he finds himself slipping deeper and deeper into the cushions.

Eventually, sometime during Rocky IV, they become an indistinguishable mess of lanky limbs and Dorito dust. Red Tornado glides by in the midst of Creed, but at the sight of the two tangled together, Wally making jokes and Dick humoring him somewhat, he decides to quietly back out and leave them be.


	40. Chapter 40

After a couple of weeks of playing babysitter for the team, he’s starting to get comfortable. Being the watchful eye in the sky is close enough to adventure to be exciting, but not so much that he has reason to be nervous. It’s not the real deal, though, for better and for worse. There’s no need to panic, no tremble in his hands and he feels safe behind the computer screen, but he doesn’t feel at home.

The itch in his fingers gets worse and despite the warning alarms going off inside his head, screaming sirens foretelling danger, he can’t fight the idea that he doesn’t belong inside four walls. His body longs for the streets; the sky, the midnight air as it hits him in the face on his way down, the crack in his joints as he jumps headfirst into a fight.

Like two people inside the same body, both pulling in opposite directions, he’s torn between the safety of the computer and the calling of the night. He can hold it off for now, but probably not forever.

It doesn’t matter, at this point. It’s not the right time, Bruce says. Dick knows it’d be easier to squeeze blood from a mountain than to get Bruce to change his mind. No matter how much they argue, he’s not going on patrol for a good while yet.

The crayon drawing of the dynamic duo he got from Gordon hangs above his bed, in some kind of ironic mockery, a knife twisting in his chest and reminding him of what could have been.

The electric jolt of restlessness creeps throughout his body. His limbs are stiff and aching like he’s been curled inside a small space for too long. Being at the mountain helps, but it can’t substitute having a real life. Summer is gently rolling in now and even if it’s painful, he knows sooner or later he’ll need to rejoin civilized society again.

Starting with somehow trying to cram a semester’s worth of studying into a cobwebbed, foggy brain. The times he manages to focus are few and brief, but Alfred is patient, as he’s always been. Little by little, as he focuses on something other than his own miserable existence for a moment, the constant ache between his temples starts to lift.

Dick had forgotten how much he loves algebra.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘’Sit still’’ Zatanna gives him a thoughtful stare through the frame of her hands.

‘’Why? It’s not like you’re using actual scissors’’

‘’No, but I’ve never done this on a person before’’

‘’You what now?’’

‘’Sit still!’’ Zatanna starts moving her hands in a theatrical manner, speaking with an authoritative, if not a bit flamboyant, voice. ‘’Mullet begone! Edis trap htiw egnirf! As it has been, so it shall be again!’’

Dick closes his eyes tightly, not sure exactly what to expect. Brushed by a cool gush of wind, a sphere of light envelopes his head before quickly dissipating, leaving behind a neat and tidy cut.

‘’Open your eyes!’’ Zatanna smiles proudly at him, holding a small mirror between her hands. An uncanny face stares back at him from the glass. He sits staring in silent shock, so long that it makes Zatanna nervous. She fidgets, but doesn’t move the mirror away. ‘’Do you hate it?’’

Dick can’t stop staring at his reflection. The thin, sharp face, the dry and ashen skin along with his sunken, haunting eyes. The haircut is just like his old one, impeccably done, but he can’t seem to recognize the person staring back at him.

‘’The hair’s fine, Zee’’ He says quietly, before finally managing to tear his eyes away and meet her worried  gaze. ‘’Just unusual’’

‘’I don’t wanna sound full of myself or anything, but... Not too bad for a first attempt!’’ She smiles at him again.  ‘’And no clean up!’’

‘’I thought you said you did your brother’s hair all the time? ’’

Zatanna waves her hand dismissively. ‘’Oh, I say lots of things! Anyway, now you look like a person again’’ She takes a mock bow. ‘’No need to thank me’’

‘’Thanks anyway’’ He clears his throat and an uncomfortable silence falls between them. He’s managed to avoid both her and Raquel since his last outburst, which he knows isn’t exactly a productive coping mechanism, and J’onn would lecture him about avoidance if he knew, but baby steps.

‘’Hey, Zee!’’ Artemis sticks her head in through the doorway, already clad in her stealth uniform. Her eyes widen at the sight of him before a smirk falls on her lips. ‘’Nice hair, Bird Boy. Looking like a normal teenager again’’

Dick rolls his eyes but doesn’t have time to retort, as Zatanna throws the spell to change into her uniform.

‘’Time to go?’’ She says, arms splayed out.

‘’Yep, everyone’s already waiting in the bioship’’

Zatanna glances awkwardly at Dick, spending time trying to find something not-stupid to say. Coming up short, she settles for a stiff smile before heading out of the room. Joining Artemis’ side, she immediately relaxes.

Dick can’t stop running his fingers through his fringe. Like wearing someone else’s coat, he thinks it’ll take a while getting used to again.

‘’Hey’’ Artemis says, catching his eye. ‘’You know it’s not too late to join’’

‘’I’m on house arrest, re _member_?’’

‘’And that’s stopped you before?’’

Dick tries to convey his feelings through a series of grimaces, but nothing is enough to portray the nauseating mix of anxiety and careful excitement.

‘’Someone needs to keep watch’’ He says, trying to ignore the part of him that’s already thinking up possible lies to tell Batman, should he ask.

‘’You can keep watch from the ship’’ Artemis has a particularly scheming look in her eye. ‘’Not technically on the mission but you’re not holed up in here like Rapunzel, either’’

Zatanna nods in agreement. ‘’Way more fun’’

Dick groans, but can feel the resolve waver, little by little.

‘’With what suit?’’

‘’Oh’’ Zatanna smirks at him, cracking her knuckles. ‘’I’ve got a spell for that’’

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘’Don’t worry! You’ll stay on the ship!’’ Dick mumbles under his breath as he evades an oncoming rain of bullets. Making a not too graceful somersault lands him on his feet again, and he’s soon thrown an explosive birdarang towards the machine. ‘’It’ll be just like a normal recon mission! You won’t have to get out at all!’’

It feels good to take something out without having to think about the consequences. Robot guard  dogs don’t feel pain and there’s no guilt if he goes too far. Withholding the built up rage when fighting actual flesh and blood is exhausting, and it produces something like a spring effect as he unleashes violence on the machines.

The birdarang stops blinking and the resulting explosion nearly knocks him off his feet, though he manages to stay upright. Wally makes a sudden halt, feet carving deep tracks through the ground. Shaking his boot clean from dirt, he flashes his friend a bright grin.

‘’Oh, come on! You couldn’t wait to get out of that ship! The moment Kal radio’d for backup you threw yourself out without even blinking’’

‘’Did _not_ ’’ Dick hisses, brushing himself off from debris.

‘’Stop pretending you didn’t come swooping in here with a dramatic landing _and_ a witty oneliner! I saw you!’’

‘’All I said was ‘ _you rang?_ ’’

‘’Exactly!’’ Wally gestures wildly. ‘’Also, that’s way dated, dude! Nobody watches the Addams anymore!’’

‘’Better than yours!’’

‘’Come on! Who let the dogs out? Seriously? That’s gold!’’

‘’That song’s like 18 years old! You weren’t even born!’’

‘’What can I say? It’s a classic’’

Dick blows a tuft of hair out of his face. ‘’This was a bad idea’’

‘’Quit whining’’ Wally rolls his eyes. ‘’You’re having fun! Admit it!’’

Dick just gives him a glare.

‘’The robodogs are dispatched now so I guess I can go back to the ship’’

‘’Uh, better hold that thought...’’ Wally stretches as mechanical, computerized barks echo through the valley. A loud cacophony of metal paws smattering across rocks cause the ground to tremble. ‘’We got incoming’’

A pack of five run towards them faster than any real canine ever could. Rays of sunlight shatter against titanium, cascading down their backs, making them hot to the touch as one brushes close,  jaws snapping shut a hair’s width away from Dick’s arm.

‘’Dude!’’ Wally shouts, pointing towards a rock wall. ‘’Think your noodle arms can hold me?’’

Dick snorts. ‘’If you can get your fat butt up the wall!’’

Wally sticks his tongue out which, admittedly, is not the most dignified or mature response, but in the light of the situation, there’s little time for wit. Kicking a dog in the leg, it flips over, rolling down a dusty hill with desperate, computerized yelps. Giving his friend thumbs up, Dick responds in kind, and Wally starts running.

Quickly running up the steep, warm stone, he kicks himself away from the wall, flipping backwards through the air. Dick readies himself to catch him; his heart speeds up, but time slows down. Just as if in a dream, the world around him moves like tar. He sees the four remaining dogs approaching, and Wally’s shadow, his body just a black spot against the unforgiving brightness of the sun.

Unable to move, limbs solidified like stalactites in a dark, empty cave, he can see Wally’s panicked face, his flailing legs and the sole of his polyamide boot before it even makes contact with his chest.

He knows they must tumble down the hill in an awful mess of limbs and logically, he knows he must’ve sprained something, if not outright broken it, but he can’t remember the scene of sequences leading them there.

Dust whips around them as they land, settling into their hair, nesting in the creases of their ears. Wally spits some dirt out of his mouth, staring at Dick like his own personal Judas.

‘’Dude! What the hell?! Why didn’t you catch me?!’’

Dick blinks as if it will somehow make things clearer, as if the blur and the fog isn’t in his mind, tendrils of confusion stretching into every corner of his being. His mouth is painfully dry when he speaks.

‘’I- I don’t know’’ He says. ‘’I froze, I… I don’t...’’

Wally looks at him with a grim, but not accusatory, face. Scrambling over, he helps his friend get to his feet. Brushing his shoulders off, a troubled look darkens his eyes.

‘’Sure you’re okay, man?’’

‘’Yeah’’ Dick grimaces. ‘’Sorry, buddy, I’ll, uh, I’ll get my head in the game’’

‘’If you need to go back to the ship... ‘’

‘’I said I’m fine!’’ Dick throws Wally’s hands off himself. Cheeks flushing in anger and, maybe a bit of embarrassment, starts making his way back up the hill. ‘’Quit bugging me!  You’re sounding like Alfred!’’

Wally opens his mouth to protest, but Dick’s cape has already disappeared out of view. ‘’Dude!’’

A minor explosion suddenly covers the valley with a stark, blinding light followed by a powerful boom. Wally’s heart leaps far up his throat as he hurries up the hill. The ground has opened up in a blackened crater under the heat while charred robotic remains lie scattered around its edges.

‘’There’s one more’’ Dick says without looking at him.

‘’Do we need to talk?’’ Wally draws the words out hesitantly, eyeing the other like a cigarette too close to gasoline in some low budget action movie.

‘’Really? You wanna do this now? Kind of a _portune_ moment, don’t you think?’’

‘’Uh…’’

Without warning, and before Wally has chance to react, the last remaining dog has appeared from the dust. Dick leaps up in the air to avoid the oncoming assault, flipping himself backwards to meet it mid-sprint. The dog nearly slips on the loosened rocks, but steadies itself quickly. Wally makes a mental note to think more about its stabilizing technology later, because, come on, way cool.

Dick throws two roped balls towards the dog, wrapping around its legs and flipping it like a calf at a rodeo. With an artificial yelp that almost makes him feel sorry for it, it embeds itself deeply into the ground, barking in distress.

‘’Aw, man’’ Wally resists the urge to help it. ‘’It’s so lifelike. I’m surprised SB hasn’t kept one’’

‘’Focus, KF!’’ Dick hisses at him before he kneels down by the dog, ripping its power cell out of its exposed throat. It shuts down with a sad whine that has Wally’s stomach drop. Dick’s shoulders lie in a tense line, his jaws clenched tight.

‘’Dude, look, I’m sorry, okay?’’

‘’Can we do this later?’’ Dick snaps. Wally tries not to take it personally.

‘’I didn’t mean to baby you, I swear! I’m thrilled to have you back, I just -’’

‘’I can _handle_ it! Christ...’’ He brings up the computer from his wrist; pulling up a map, he zooms in with the drag of his fingers marking a location one kilometer East. In the corners of a small compass he can see the dots of the team moving. ‘’The team’s already made it to the factory. Seems like M’gann’s diversion worked’’

Wally gives him a narrow stare. Dick’s not entirely sure if it’s full of pity or wariness, maybe something else entirely, but he doesn’t like it. Even so, at the back of his head he can imagine J’onn’s voice lecturing him on conflict resolution. Dick heaves a long sigh, feeling his shoulder relax with it.

‘’Look’’ he says, voice still irritated, but kinder. ‘’I’m sorry. I overreacted, okay?’’

‘’I get it, man, it’s different being on the ground. I know it’s been a while but… you’ll get there. I’m sure of it’’

Dick hastily looks away. ‘’Thanks’’

Filled with newborn energy, Wall waltzes over to put an arm around his friend. ‘’So! Wanna head to the evil factory of doom? Or…. are you heading back to your tower, princess?’’

Dick gives him a deadpan stare, but can’t fight for long before a tiny smirk cracks open his mouth.

‘’Does that make you prince charming?’’

Wally nearly chokes.

‘’Let’s go!’’ He hurries away across the dry, barren ground. ‘’Come on! Before they get all the fun!’’

Dick rolls his eyes at no one in particular and trots off after him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Huddled together in a dirty old vent, they watch the movements of everyone’s little red dot scurry across a 3D map. Dick pulls up two design sheets, showing the floating hologram of one of the robodogs, nicknamed ‘Cyber Cujo’ by Wally, as it rotates next to that of a small, spherical drone. He swipes past them both to reveal four mugshots, one filtered in red, marked by the words ‘ _IN CUSTODY_ ’.

‘’So if the rat’s squealing the truth, the shipment should be coming in around -’’ Dick checks the time. ‘’- right about now’’

‘’ _Robin_ ’’ Superboy’s voice echoes in their heads, startling them slightly. ‘’ _I mean, uh…’’_

‘’ _Does he need a new codename?’’_ Zatanna’s voice joins in. ‘’ _I mean, I know he’s supposed to be low profile for some reason -’’_

‘’ _Nightingale!’’_ Wally interjects. Hunkered over and covered by dust, Dick thinks he looks awfully proud of himself.

‘’ _Robin’s fine_ ’’ Dick gives his friend a side eye glare. ‘’ _What’s the status?_ ’’

‘’ _I know! I know!_ _Renegade_!’’ Dick elbows him  in the side. ‘’Ow! Dude!’’

‘’ _The trucks are coming in’’_ M’gann says. ‘’ _ETA two minutes_ ’’

‘’ _Alright, team, listen carefully’’_ Kaldur’s voice joins the group. ‘’ _Miss Martian will keep watch and close off the rear with Rocket and Artemis. Zatanna and Superboy will guard the West, just in case they try anything. Kid Flash and Robin, meet me in the hangar. We will take them out, confiscate the shipment and hopefully get some information out of them. Any questions?_ ’’

Each of them answer in variations of ‘no’.

‘’ _Very well. On my sign--’’_

‘’ _They’re here!_ ’’ M’gann calls out and a cool sensation of urgency washes over the mind link.

‘’ _Robin, Kid,_ _let’s go_ ’’

‘’ _Sir, yes, sir!_ ’’ Wally responds. The two of them share a brief look before plunging down into the hangar.

Two large trucks tower up before them, each side guarded by four motorcyclists. A veil of bullets soon hail down upon them and Dick ducks and rolls on instinct more than anything else. A quick run around the room later, Wally’s disassembled the guns right out of their hands.

‘’It is futile to fight us’’ Kaldur steps out from the shadows, waterbearers humming at the ready.

A tall, muscular man throws himself out of the front truck, opening his mouth to release a horrible scream. The sonic boom instantly knocks Kaldur back against a crate. Dick manages to grab Wally, but loses his footing and is flung like a bug into a metal shelf.

‘’Don’t think they’re in the mood for talking’’ Wally groans, rubbing at is back, pain blooming beneath the skin. Dick tries to blink the dizziness away as he gets to his hands and knees; it takes a few moments for the room to stop swaying, but he manages to collect himself. ‘’Let’s go’’ He says, getting up on unsteady legs.

Wally rushes over to get Kaldur to his feet. The two of them take out half of the men without much trouble; though clearly combat trained - mercenaries, possibly - they are not metahumans and without their guns, they pose no real threat. The same, however, cannot be said for the large man guarding the front van. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with as much air as they could possibly contain, and lets out another devastating, sonic roar.

Kaldur and Wally, only quickly speaking over the mind link, team up to fight him. Dick disarms most of the remaining men with a rapid sequence of kicks, flips and ropes, disappearing off into the shadows as nimbly as a bird bouncing between branches. A light and airy feeling fills his chest as he  slips into the movements. The stiffness in his joints has eased away and now it almost feels natural, smooth and reflexive as muscle memory takes over.

Though overconfidence gets the better of him, as he fails to spot one last goon lurking close by. The masked man swings at him with an axe, and though Dick has no idea where he got that from, he’s only momentarily surprised. Evading the clumsy swings is easy, as he’s small and light and the man is the clear opposite, a hulkling mountain of sinewy muscle, he’s strong but way too slow.

He grabs onto the axe and uses it as leverage to swing himself up on the man’s back, planting a small, inconspicuous tracking device behind his ear; subdermal implant, stings a little, but easily masked by a well aimed jab to the jugular. The man bends over choking, gasping desperately for air, and is knocked out in the next few seconds with an unnecessary, but fun, roundhouse kick.

‘’Sweet!’’ Wally gives him a double thumbs up, but his attention is quickly diverted when something shiny catches his eye. Picking up the object, he realizes it’s one of the drones that had been circling the area, it’s camera lense eye cracked and lifeless. ‘’And look at this! Souvenir!’’

He pockets it with a grin as Dick walks over to him. Wally high fives him with undefeatable enthusiasm. ‘’The boys are back in town!’’

‘’What’s with you and the old music references?’’

‘’They’re called _classics_ for a reason, dude’’

Kaldur’s waterbearer shifts into the form of a sword as he presses it to the meta’s throat. Grey eyes just as sharp, he gives the man his most commanding, authoritative voice.

‘’Who are you and who do you work for?’’

‘’Why should I tell you?’’ The man spits a gob of blood at their feet. Kaldur’s face remains unimpressed.

‘’Ooh’’ Wally whistles. ‘’Tough guy, huh? Gonna do the whole badass schtick, are we?’’

The methauman scoffs, mouth widening into a bloodied grin. ‘’Something like that’’

‘’Say, I couldn’t help but notice the voice box’’ Wally touches his own adam’s apple, drawing attention to the man’s throat. Where once there had been flesh, gleaming cool metal has taken its place, an intricate contraption right where his larynx should be. ‘’You get company subsidies for that or what?’’

‘’I bet dental’s good’’ Dick mutters through a cough and Wally almost wants to high five him again, but stops himself.

Kaldur presses the blade closer. ‘’More importantly, who are your buyers?’’

‘’Many hands are involved in this, that’s all I’ll say’’ The man says. ‘’Wouldn’t wanna make it too easy’’

Kaldur glances at the others and a silent agreement is made.

‘’ _M’gann’’_ Kaldur calls over the mind link. _‘’Your services are required’’_

‘’ _Roger that, Aqualad. I’m on my way_ ’’

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘’... but for now we still do not know who they are, nor do we have any sufficient leads. M’gann was able to find out, however, that they have an inside source at S.T.A.R labs. We have been able to track some of the stolen parts back to their facilities.’’ Kaldur pulls up a holographic map with four marked locations, pointing at one of them. ‘’There is one more facility we have yet to search. It seems the previous ones have mainly been links in a long chain, each a part of the assembly process. This is where the product is finalized and sold to the highest bidder’’

‘’So far we’ve managed to source the stolen parts and match the serial numbers with Cadmus, S.T.A.R labs, _Lexcorp_ and two unknown locations, possibly foreign’’ Roy says, taking a pause to give them all a long, serious look. ’’We suspect they’re dealing in black market cybernetic enhancements. As of now, our sources are either unable or unwilling to talk’’

Dick absentmindedly rubs at his wrist, suspecting he must’ve sprained it. Brain only now starting to catch up with the stress of the day, he’s not really paying attention. The shock settles slowly over him, gentle at first like flakes of snow, then merciless and devastating like an avalanche, leaving him exhausted and dizzy.

‘’Hey’’ Wally whispers. ‘’You were badass back there’’

Dick bites back the nasty retort that springs to mind, choosing to swallow the bitter feeling of being patronized. Not everyone, as J’onn would say, is out to get him.

‘’Just doing my job’'

‘’Uh huh’’ Wally studies him briefly. ‘’How’s the arm?’’

‘’Think I sprained my wrist’’

‘’See, Raquel’s already called dibs on arm injuries. You gotta think of something more original’’

‘’Robin, Kid Flash, you seem eager to get out of here, why don’t _you_ go?’’ Roy recaptures their attention, his voice having risen in annoyance.

Wally turns to stare at him quizzically. ‘’Huh?’'

‘’I _said_ \--’’ Roy snarls. ‘’-- we’ll need to do recon of the last remaining building, Gather any information we can before we organize an attack plan’’

Dick crosses his arms. ‘’Does no one understand the word ‘ _benched_ ’?’’

‘’And you were with us today because..?’’ Artemis sends him a pointed look.

Dick wishes he had heat vision so he could melt all of them on the spot. Unfortunately, he does not, and instead has to settle for a burning glare. Rubbing at his wrist, something very stubborn rises inside his chest.

‘’Fine!’’ He says, only barely regretting it as soon as he’s spoken. ‘’You want me to help, I’ll help! When and where, Red?’’

Roy’s stern face of annoyance soon shifts into amusement.

‘’I was about to get to that’’

  


* * *

 

 

Dinner at the mansion is quiet for the most part. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, per se, but neither is it particularly relaxed. It just is. Dick welcomes this limbo, body still electrified with tension as the events of yesterday sink into his mind. It had been so surprisingly easy to slide back into it again. Despite the failure in Keystone, his concussion and the aching wrist, all of that means nothing compared to the thrill of working again.

‘’Well done on the mission, by the way’’

Dick nearly chokes on his lasagna. Punching himself in the chest, he manages to knock the piece loose, painfully passing down his esophagus. By the time he’s managed to properly swallow it his eyes have become blurry with tears. Taking a sip of water, he gives Bruce a wide eyed look. ‘’You knew?’’

Bruce seems just a little bit amused. Not at all angry as he had expected, and his body immediately tenses, waiting for the recoil.

‘’I think it's time you rejoin the team full time’’

Instead of yelling, though, Bruce continues saying things that make absolutely no god damn sense. His face reveals nothing, no trickery, no dishonesty. Just smooth and quiet calm.

‘’What about Gordon?’’ Dick says, stomach filling with concrete.

‘’Let me handle the commissioner’’

‘’I thought -’’

‘’I promised you five years ago that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I will _not_ break that promise again’’

Dick’s stomach twists and he feels like the lasagna is just about to make its way up again. He takes a deep breath through his nose in an attempt to calm down, tapping his fingers restlessly against the table.

‘’The questions is -’’ Bruce says. ‘’- are you ready?’’

They stare at each other for one brief, electrified moment. Dick feels his heart tremble, but not entirely with fear. There is, he thinks, something like excitement burning in his blood.

He swallows. ‘’Guess I’ve got to try’’

Bruce’s mouth curves into the smallest of smiles.

‘’You’ll be fine, Dick’’

‘’What about patrol?’’

Bruce pauses for thought.

‘’I think we’ll need to wait a bit, just until the situation settles with Gordon. For now, I think it’s better if Robin stays out of Gotham’’

Dick feels a pang of disappointment, though he hadn’t really expected any other outcome.

They continue eating without speaking for a while, and Dick has nearly struggled through his entire plate before the nausea finally hits. With a tall, cold glass of water, even the final bites of food go down his throat.

‘’I like the new suit’’ Bruce says suddenly.

Dick draws a pattern in the condensation of his glass, glancing at him through the distortion of the water.

‘’It’s just temporary’’ He says in a quiet voice.

Bruce takes a sip of wine.

‘’I know’’

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘’Do you think I’m stupid, Batman?’’

Gordon blows a large cloud of smoke out his nose, eyes glowing with anger. Maybe even a little bit of resentment. Batman, however, remains as stoic and unmoving as a slab of marble.

‘’On the contrary, commissioner, I think you’re highly intelligent’’

‘’You think I don’t hear things? I _know_ he was in Keystone City! I can’t prove it, but he’s been reported by witnesses, there were _police_ officers --’’

‘’Robin may have been in Keystone, but Richard Grayson’s been in Paris for weeks’’

‘’Excuse me?’’ The way Gordon looks at him reminds him of an irate dog, a terrier that’s got a whiff of something but is forced not to chase after. A vein twitches under the skin of the older man’s temple.

Batman hands him a magazine, hidden god knows where underneath the cape. Gordon takes it, trembling in anger as he shakes the paper out, smoothing the creases of the front page picture.

‘’What the hell is this?’’

‘’For all intents and purposes, Dick Grayson is receiving private tutoring in France to prepare him for the school year’’

Gordon’s mouth works furiously to form words, gaping silently like hinges coming undone.

‘’Did you send this to them? I mean for crying out loud! The _Gotham Glamour_? Is this what we’re resorting to now?’’

Batman’s face betrays nothing.

‘’If you turn to page nine’’ He says calmly. ‘’You can also see photos of Bruce Wayne on his yacht in the Bahamas’’

The glossy magazine crumples under cramping, white knuckled fists as Gordon’s face grows a stark shade of red. He stops himself for a moment, takes a deep breath and reminds himself of who he’s talking to.

‘’Look, I respect what you and I have built during the years, but I am a police officer. More than that, I’m a _father_ ’’ Gordon gives him a long, pleading look. ‘’Do you really want to go down this road?’’

‘’It’s not for us to decide’’

‘’He is a _child!’’_

‘’No, Commissioner. Not anymore’’

Gordon opens his mouth to protest, but feels the ire drain out of him, fading like the embers in his pipe. Gingerly, he knocks the ashes out and sighs.

‘’Is this truly what’s best for him?’’ Gordon’s voice is low, tired, but not entirely defeated. ‘’I’ve told you so many times, I -’’ He sighs again, rubbing at his eyes beneath the glasses. ‘’I respect our partnership, but I can’t stand here and do nothing while you endanger a fourteen year old boy! Not after what he’s been through!’’

They stare at each other for a long time, with only the wind breaking the silence. Eventually, Batman nods.

‘’Then I guess this is our fork in the road’’

Gordon stares grimly at the city. ‘’I guess so’’

As Batman pulls out his grappling hook, Gordon turns his back to light his pipe anew.  Even this time he doesn’t hear him leave.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the long delay!! i went on a long holiday and then life happened. thanks for all the kind words ! promise it won't be 6 weeks until next update lol (also how about that titans trailer?)

‘’ _Man, I hate caféteria food_ ’’

‘’Oh yeah? Is that why you’re on your third serving?’’

 _‘’Hey, you and I both know serving sizes are a social construct!’’_ Wally tries to be discreet as he hisses into his lapel, long lab coat flowing off his frame making him feel all science-y.

Dick thinks if he rolls his eyes one more time he’ll probably go blind. Teaming up with Wally _is_ fun, but two weeks is enough to drive him crazy. Being cooped up in the cave only fuels the fire; staring at a computer screen while Wally does all the legwork seems a cruel and unusual prank by the universe.  
  
‘’So we can see small discrepancies in stock but it’s hard to tell what’s legit and what’s just down to human err--’’  
  
‘’ _One sec_ ’’ Wally says, suddenly getting off his chair. According to the computer, his heart’s started beating faster and Dick’s not late to join it. ‘' _I don’t like the look that dude’s giving me_ ’’

‘’Whatever you do, do _not_ go after --’’ Dick slaps his forehead, hissing to himself. ‘’Screw it. Who am I talking to?’’

When he looks back at the screen, Wally’s already made his way into the corridor and somehow, into a fight. An imperceptibly fast plasma blast forces him to duck and cover behind a wall, pulse beating fast and loud as Dick struggles to make sense of what just happened.

‘' _Woah! Dude!_ ’’A dark, gaping hole opens up in the wall behind him, pipes melting and hissing behind the decaying drywall.  
  
On the screen, one of Dick’s programs is busy analyzing the footage from Wally’s lapel camera. It soon comes up with bright red warning signs and a blurry image of what looks like plasma cannons.

‘’Dude, plasma cannons! Do not engage! I repeat, do _not_ engage!’’  
  
‘’ _Bro, I  can deal with this bozo_ ’’  
  
‘’I know _you_ can, but you’re not _you_ , remember?’’’  
  
‘’ _He’s getting away!_ ’’

‘’Then let him! Don’t blow your cover!’’

Easily ignoring him, Wally’s thrown off his coat in a blink, punching his chest to activate the suit. As the coat falls to the ground, its camera follows with it, losing sight of the scene with a rustling shake. Dick rises out of his chair as panic barges through him, hands shaking as he screams for Wally to back down.

‘’Wally!’’

A loud rumble from collapsing concrete is heard, followed by a long, empty silence.

With only the dead static in his earpiece and the distorted image of a dull, grey ceiling, Dick hits his fist down hard on the desk, making everything rattle.

‘’You god damn _idiot_!’’

 

 

* * *

 

He could’ve called for back up, but then again, who has the time or the patience? Could’ve called Batman. Canary. Tornado. Then who knows when they’d get another mission like this again? Kaldur’s busy with Atlantis stuff, as usual. Superboy’s training with Clark, M’gann visiting her uncle and he’d rather not ask Raquel or Zatanna.

In the end he can think of only one person. He’d rather swallow a fistful of thumbtacks than ask for help but, there are more important things to worry about right now.

Artemis appears in the cave like an apparition, already dressed and looking ready for anything. He swallows down the nasty, bitter taste in his mouth and hopes her determination and confidence is contagious.

Dick goes through so many different worst scenarios in his head he gets dizzy, stumbling through the garage with weak knees, the room blurs around his eyes like he’s overcome with a sudden, inexplicable fever. His boots feel heavier than usual.

He keeps calling Wally but no one answers while panic curls around his windpipe; it is such a familiar feeling, these days. Aching hot iron in his stomach and the taste of vomit on his tongue have become second nature.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘’Are you sure you’re okay? You’re sweating’’

Dick takes several deep breaths through his nose, nostrils flaring wildly. It keeps him from hyperventilating but does nothing to stop the rivulets of sweat cascading down his face. The mask feels itchy and he struggles not to scratch at it.

‘’If they haven’t discovered the GPS tracker in Wally’s suit, then he should be here’’ He points to the map on his wrist.

‘’And if they have discovered it?’’ Artemis gives him a dubious look.

Dick tries to smile but only bares his teeth. ‘’Then I guess we’ll have to think fast’’

‘’So… Any ideas on how to get by security?’’

Dick bites his jaws down hard. He feels her heavy stare on him as the silence becomes unbearably loaded. Suddenly, a light appears in the background of her irises.

‘’ _No_ oooo’’ She says, realizing his intentions far too late. Dick has already made up his mind.

‘’Yep’'

Artemis’ stomach fills with acid as she turns to look towards the warehouse.

‘’Are you sure about this?’’ She glances at him, face pulled tight like wire, her voice tensing to the point of pain.

‘’I’ll do more good from in there than out here’’  
  
‘’I’ll do it! You can stay here and -’’  
  
‘’ _No_ ’’ Dick takes a breath, then calmer, says, ‘’No. _I_ have to do it’’  
  
Artemis sighs. ‘’Yeah, yeah. Ever the martyr, aren’t you?’’  
  
Studying his face, any trace of his panic has not yet managed to claw its way past his forced mask of bravado. Though inside his heart is exploding, mind screaming like sirens on an ambulance at the height of urgency, he manages to look like he knows what he’s doing.  
  
‘’Are you sure this is a good idea?’’ She says, though she knows the answer.  
  
He gags on a mouthful of vomit that tries to make its way back up. Swallowing it down, he gets to his feet.  
  
‘’I think it’s a crap idea’’ He says.  
  
Artemis grimaces. Casting one last glance towards the warehouse and the cartoonishly large men guarding its entrance, she pulls some hair out of her face and gets to her feet.  
  
‘’Alright’’ She sighs. ‘’Here goes nothing’’

 

 

* * *

 

 

Wally eyes him wide eyed as they carry him in. Getting captured, in theory, is easy, but his entire body resists the action as if he’s about to bathe in fire.

Every limb freezes up at first, seizing at the idea of what’s about to happen.  He puts up a fight half for appearances, half for the panic wrestling for control over his body, wreaking havoc through his muscles like a forest fire. He hopes he can keep it at bay long enough to see this through; but there’s not much time before his fear destroys everything.

He knows he’s on borrowed time, an internal clock quickly counting down the minutes to his unraveling.  He takes deep, deep breaths, painful to his lungs, reminding himself over and over with increasing intensity everything that Batman’s taught him.

‘’Dude!’’ Wally half-shrieks. At the suspicious glances from the guards, he lowers his voice to a hurried whisper. ‘’ _Dude_! What the hell?!’’  
  
‘’I’m here to rescue you’’ Dick says, voice flat and strained. He tries to smile but his face feels numb.  
  
Wally cocks a brow but doesn’t dignify him with a response. Dick manages to force his focus to their surroundings. It’s a warehouse, not a fortress, only rudimentary security as the forest provides enough protection between the technosmugglers and the rest of the world. All he would need is to to knock out five guys with cybernetic enhancements, avoid getting hit by their plasma cannons and crash through a window, escape into the forest and it would be sweet freedom from there.  
  
In theory, at least.  
  
‘’Great’’ Wally fiddles with the lock, red faced and sweating with frustration.  
  
Using the small lock pick in his glove, Dick gets to work on his own restraints. A long, painful silence stretches between them, only punctured by the occasional laughter from one of the smugglers, joking and bantering to keep the boredom at bay, every so often throwing suspicious glances their way.  
  
‘’Wanna know something stupid?’’ Wally says, but he has no idea why. His brain appears to have left the building, his mouth working by its own. Even if he wanted to, he doesn’t think he could stop himself from talking.

Dick doesn’t look at him, concentrating on his lock, trying to fight off the screaming, thrashing, pulsating panic threatening to crush every bone in his body.

‘’Huh?’’ Is all Wally gets in response.

Wally closes his eyes and goes for it. ‘’I was gonna ask you out that day. When you were captured, I mean’’  
  
Barbed wire coils itself around his throat as his friend doesn’t answer. The silence between them is suffocating, broken only by fearful heartbeats. Suddenly, Wally’s eyes snap open as Dick speaks in a low, hoarse voice.

‘’You still can’’

The room sways slightly around him, but Dick manages to steady himself. By some miracle, he blinks the dust out of his eyes, clears his throat and breathes.  
  
‘’Yeah?’’ Wally wonders if he’s slipped into a dimensional rift and ended up in the twilight zone. Half expecting Rod Serling to come busting in through a window, he wets his lips and stares at Dick with wide, anxious eyes.  
  
Dick’s face is as if on fire. His heart beating so loudly, he thinks he can feel it in his fingers.  
  
‘’Yeah’’ He clears his throat, then with more conviction, says ‘’Yeah. If you - if you want’’  
  
Wally stares at him for the longest moment of Dick’s life. In an instant his demeanor has changed; from careful, uncharacteristically hesitant, to the bold and bright and unstoppable force he’s known for years.  
  
‘’If we get out of here’’ Dick adds then, crushing his spirits instantly. But Wally quickly recovers.

‘’Got a plan?’’

Dick scoffs.

‘’I’ll think of something’’

 

 

* * *

 

 

Despite the razor like pain of air in his lungs, the constant feeling of his chest crushed inwards, he manages to rip himself away from the gravitational pull of his memories; black holes drawing him beyond their event horizon.

His stomach eventually wins the long tug-o-war against him, and he topples to his knees as soon as they’re safely out of the forest. He has no memory of the time between feeling his locks snap open and getting off the motorcycle; only a blank, white void and a sharp, white noise fills the space where a memory should be.

Wally’s talking to him, but he hears nothing, his ears as if filled with water, and he can only barely see the fuzzy outline of Artemis. No doubt staring at him in worry, as he bolts off the bike and throws his helmet god knows where.

Within seconds, poached eggs and Wiltshire ham force their way out of his mouth, spilling onto the damp earth.

Someone sits with him, he doesn’t know for how long. Eventually his knees ache and his arms shake too much to keep him upright. Sitting back on the ground, Dick touches his face as if feeling it for the first time. Vomit stains the corners of his mouth, having spilled onto his suit, but he doesn’t care, and neither does Artemis, patiently waiting beside him. Wally sits close by, a bottle of water in his hand.

‘’Did we…’’ Dick blinks, vision clearing but his head echoes, dumb and soft and unfocused like cotton, like film put through the washing machine. Bled out and empty, he floats, a cloud barely attached to his body.

‘’Hey, just drink’’ Wally puts the bottle in his hand. He stares at it for a good couple of minutes before something in his brain remembers how to drink.

‘’Hey, circus geek’’ Artemis snaps her fingers, his eyes instantly flickering up to meet hers.  ‘’Don’t worry about the bad guys, okay? All you need to know is that you’re back in Happy Harbor and everyone’s fine’’

Wally gives him a wide grin that fails to be fully convincing.

Dick takes several long gulps, not having realized how utterly parched he is. That feeling like his mouth stuffed full of sawdust slowly lifts, but the ringing, echoing numbness in his body remains. Dick wonders if maybe he’s been sleeping, this whole time.

‘’You did something  really stupid today’’ Artemis says. ‘’But … I’m proud of you’’

Dick scratches at his mask. ‘’Don’t patronize me’’

She rolls her eyes. ‘’Learn to take a damn compliment’’

Eyeing him, she reluctantly gets to her feet. She gives Wally a nod, something unspoken shared between them, and leaves. Dick only now realizes someone’s put a blanket on him. Irritably, he pulls the mask off. Itching around his eyes, he rubs at his skin but finds no relief.

Slowly, the cold feeling of dewy grass starts to register against his palm, wet summer air plastering his hair to his head and the low cooing of evening birds sing in the background.  He glances around himself as the world starts to spring anew.

‘’Hey, you gotta stop saving my butt like this or you’ll make me look bad’’ Wally says, face torn in some sort of Frankenstein’s monster between concerned frown and amiable smile. Dick counts his freckles in an effort to resurface.

‘’Told you not to go after him’’

‘’Yeah, well’’ Wally shrugs. ‘’I live for danger’’

A scoff falls out of Dick’s mouth, to his own surprise. He wasn’t entirely aware of making it.

Wally says something about the mission, about the smuggling ring and tech and S.T.A.R and this and that and who the hell even knows anymore. Dick stops listening long before Wally’s voice becomes too fast to hear, words blurring into one long, indecipherable sound of nervousness and excitement. In the hollow of his chest, he can feel his heart twinge.

‘’About the - uh - date or whatever --‘’ Wally clears his throat.

Only now does Dick actually regain interest in his friend, looking up at him, feeling oddly awake. Though groggy, like waking from a three hour nap. Somehow less rested, more confused and more miserable. A poor quality, knock-off version of wakefulness.  
  
‘’It’s not too fast, is it?’’ Wally says with an almost manic intensity to his eyes, face flushed red and shiny. ‘’I mean, if it’s too much for you, we can totally do a raincheck, or just forget about it if you’re unsure --’’  
  
‘’Wally’’ Dick bores his eyes into him and says, with the calmest and most authoritative voice he’s managed in a long, long time, ‘’You asked me out’’

Wally’s eyes dart from side to side. ‘’Uh… yeah?’’

Dick grabs a fistful of cold grass, twisting it around his fingers until it hurts, blades digging into his skin and pulling him, pulling, pulling closer to the earth, dragging him out of his stray orbit.

‘’You asked me out and I said yes, now deal with the consequences’’  
  
Wally, left gaping stupidly, closes his mouth. The faintest of smirks grasps at his mouth,  and Dick’s face becomes unbearably hot.  
  
‘’Right’’ Wally clears his throat, an amused look in his eyes. ‘’Cool, cool, cool. I can do that’’

Dick inspects the torn blades of grass in his hand, the red lines on his skin. He looks at Wally again. The evening sun feels warmer against his skin, while the ground is cold to sit on.  
  
‘’If you don’t want to do it -’’ Dick says, feeling too detached to even worry about it. This is just life now. People don’t want him. Will never want him. It’s just the way things are.  
  
‘’No! No! I want to, I do!’’ Wally shrieks defensively. ‘’I mean, uh… I’m _cool_ ! I’m cool. _I’m_ cool‘’

Dick snorts. ‘’Keep dreaming, buddy’’

‘’Dude!’’

They stare at each other in expectant silence, unsure and dizzy. Dick’s blue eyes slowly fill with a gentle warmth, like spring frost melting under a slow and deliberate February sun. Wally’s smile has soon spread between them both. The water bottle feels heavy in Dick’s hand. He takes a deep breath.

‘’I feel like I’m dying’’ He says quietly into the air, eyes fixated on a point far away.

‘’Wanna talk about it?’’

Dick shrugs. ‘’I don’t know, man, I’m wiped’’

‘’Maybe that’s enough excitement for today?’’

Dick’s eyes focus again if only for the sole purpose of glaring at him.

‘’Don’t --’’

‘’Patronize you, yeah, yeah! I’m _not_ , Rob. It’s called _caring_ ’’

Dick huffs, but doesn’t argue. Still unable to move his legs, the two sit in silence, watching the sun set behind the clouds.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The numbness gradually lifts during the evening but come bedtime, it hasn’t completely let go. it still lingers in his fingertips, curdling in the pit of his stomach. As he gets into bed it takes him too long to realize he’s stubbed his toe at some point.

He lies awake for a couple of hours, long after the last sound in the mountain has died down. Enveloped in complete darkness his mind starts to play tricks on him. A carefully constructed show of shadows that aren’t quite there, blending before his eyes into things that don’t make sense.

At some point the darkness conjures faint yellow eyes he wishes more than anything he could forget; a smell that had not been there before coiling around him; the thick and pungent stink of sweaty leather and old wood.

A jolt runs through his spine and he is fast on his feet. He runs to the bathroom to throw up but there is nothing to vomit except bile and orange juice; he hasn’t managed to eat since they came back and no one’s had the heart to push him.

Sweaty and pale, he stumbles out of his room, blindly wandering the halls of the mountain, feeling cool, rough stone under his palms. He walks with no direction and eventually finds himself in the main room, illuminated only by the cool light of the TV. M’gann, at the edge of her seat, biting her nails as an old western movie unfolds behind the LCD screen.

Moments pass without her realizing he’s there, when a strange feeling of being watched falls over her. She looks to the doorway and jumps with a shriek. Dick doesn’t move.

‘’Robin!’’ She feels her heartbeat quicken behind her ribs. ‘’You scared me!’'

Dick glances at the TV screen. ‘’Can’t sleep’’  He mumbles.

She pats the couch, smiling welcomingly at him. An almost uncomfortable amount of time passes by before he walks over and sits down. This close to him, she can feel the faint smell of vomit, but decides not to mention it. 

‘’M’gann’’ Dick says, absentmindedly, seemingly transfixed by the gunslinger and his adventures, caught in a shootout with a villain whose actor he recognizes, but can’t remember.

‘’Hm?’’

‘’This isn’t a dream, right?’’

‘’Want me to pinch you?’’

He almost chuckles. ‘’No’’

‘’Are you..?’’ She twists the blanket between her hands. ‘’What can I do?’’  
  
Dick blinks the haze out of his eyes, focusing on her with a newfound clarity as her edges come back into view. ‘’Huh?’’ He blinks again. ‘’Oh. Uh… Just… Just keep me company?’’  
  
M’gann nods.  
  
‘’I can do that’’  
  
Her eyes linger on him as he settles into the cushions of the couch, eyes growing distant again, but not in a glazed over, clouded way, but rather absorbed by the movie unfolding. M’gann pulls some of the blanket together and gently places it over his legs.  
  
‘’Popcorn?’’ She holds the bowl out to him with a smile.  
  
Dick quietly pops a handful in his mouth.


	42. Chapter 42

* * *

‘’Okay, so first step is to write it in the correct form, right?’’

Conner gives him a narrow look that’s not  quite a glare, but inching close.

‘’So… it’s two times x…’’ He says, causing Dick’s brows to rise from behind the glasses. ‘’No. X squared?’’ Conner continues, fully glaring now. ‘’ _Ax_  squared?’’

‘’Uh huh’’ Dick takes the notebook from him and starts to scribble. ‘’Okay, look, ax squared plus bx plus c equals zero, right?’’

‘’If you say so’’

‘’And if you have two numbers, a and b, a times b is zero, then we also know..?’’

’'Why the hell are there so many letters?!’’ Conner balls his fists up tight, teeth grinding together to stifle the frustrated scream that’s been brewing for the past hour. ‘’I thought this was  _math_ ’’

‘’Letters are just a way to name unknown variables’’ Dick receives a heated glare. ‘’So, let’s just pretend we know the unknown --’’

‘’Not  _help_ ing’’

Each word pushes out between his teeth like glass. English, at least, is easy. French, Spanish -- great, the G-nomes already put that in there. History? Super. While he has the factual knowledge of math,  _applying_ that knowledge in the real world, that’s another matter.

‘’So if ax squared plus bx plus c is zero…’’ His scribbles grow increasingly urgent, an electric current of excitement heating his blood. He licks his lips and points to the equations on the page. ‘’So a times b is zero, which means either a equals zero or b equals zero… For example, two unknown minus eight unknown minus twenty equals zero…’’

The pencil snaps in Conner’s hand. Dick’s eyes dart between the splinters and Conner’s reddening face, sweat pooling by his temples. The clone takes a few deep breaths through his nose until the colour ebbs away.

‘’Sorry’’ he mumbles, shoulders still tense but the vein in his forehead has disappeared.

‘’Maybe we should … take a break’’

‘’Maybe’’

They sit staring awkwardly at the table for a moment; Conner working hard on calming his breathing while Dick tries not to feel nervous about it. Seeing Conner’s body relax gradually, breathing slowing until he seems almost normal, Dick deems it safe to speak.

‘’How do you handle it?’’

‘’Handle what?’’

Dick resists the urge to figdet. ‘’Angry feelings, I guess’’

‘’Oh’’ Conner thinks for a bit, staring intensely. ‘’Walking helps’’

Dick fails to hold back an incredulous snort. ‘’You go for  _walks_?’’

‘’Got a problem with that?’’

‘’No, no! I just … didn’t picture you as the… outdoorsy type’’

Conner huffs irritably and looks away. ‘’I’m working on my… anger issues. Canary’s been helping’’

Dick hums thoughtfully.

‘’Maybe you should talk to her’’ Conner says as he brushes wooden shrapnel off his hands, palms grey with graphite.

‘’Maybe’’

They don’t think of anything to say for a long, long time, stewing together in tense discomfort. Dick half considers just getting up and leaving, but manages to sit still on his chair. Conner keeps glaring at his palms, seemingly lost in thought.

‘’How’s uh…’’ Dick swallows, his throat horribly dry. ‘’How’s everything with Superman?’’

Conner gives him a calculating look. His face is difficult to read, but there is something almost hesitant about his eyes.

‘’It’s fine. He’s helping me. With my powers, I mean’’ A bitter smile falls over his lips. ‘’Still no flight, though’’

‘’Bummer’’

‘’You could train with us, sometime. Might be… therapeutic’’

Dick scoffs. ‘’I don’t think I’d keep up’’

‘’Are you..?’’ Conner frowns, searching a vast vocabulary only to come up with nothing leaves a bitter frustration behind. Even when he tries to plan ahead - unusual in its own right - he still never finds the right words. Maybe there aren’t any.

‘’It’s fine’’ Dick says, managing to sound convincing. ‘’Listen, SB, I know how badly you’ve wanted some with the guy. I’m just being stupid’’ He lets out a shaky exhale. ‘’I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been a selfish jackass’’

Conner opens his mouth, not at all prepared for this conversation. Looking for words that might fit, all of them seem awkward in his mouth.

‘’You should try walks’’ He says instead. ‘’It helps’’

Dick grimaces. ‘’Guess it can’t hurt’’

Conner looks at him, head on, with the unashamed directness of a child. Caught in his stare like a tractorbeam, Dick finds it impossible to look away.

‘’Are you getting better?’’ Conner says.

‘’Define better’’

‘’Are things less sucky?’’

‘’I guess’’ A corner of his mouth lifts in a bitter smile. ‘’Guess I could use a walk every now and then’’

Conner’s eyes light up like a cat’s chasing dust particles. Perking up with newfound energy he grabs the remaining stump of his pencil, scribbling fervently in his notebook.

‘’X equals minus eight!’’ He says. ‘’X equals  minus eight divided by two... plus or minus the square root of eight divided by two... squared... minus  q, which becomes positive, so plus twenty...’’

Dick watches him in careful silence, scared to disturb the moment. Numbers pour out on the paper in messy handwriting, the same equation simplified over and over until left are two answers.

‘’X-one is minus four plus six, which equals two. X-two is  _minus_  four minus six which equals minus ten!’’ He throws the pencil stump on the table as if he were dropping a mic, eyes bright with triumph. He appears larger somehow. ‘’Solved it!’’

‘’Hey, good job!’’ Dick’s mouth splits into a full on grin. It feels unusual to his face, like moving muscles he had forgotten how to use. ‘’Not so bad once it sticks, huh?’’

Conner’s face immediately shifts into dark annoyance. ‘’Just another ten pages to go’’

‘’Eh’’ Dick leans closer over the table to get a better look at the pages. ‘’You’ll get there. Just gotta be stubborn’’

Conner scoffs. ‘’At least I’m good at that’’

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘’There you are’’

‘’Yo’’

Bruce watches him from far below the rings, still dressed in a dark business suit. Some chalk rains down from the rings, landing on his shoulder as gentle as fresh snow. He quickly brushes it off without taking his eyes off his ward, waiting for the boy to stop spinning. Dick doesn’t come down but remains with his knees hooked through the rings, watching Bruce from upside down.

‘’What’s up?’’

Bruce almost smiles.

‘’I was thinking’’ He says.  ‘’You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately and this past year has been… tumultuous’’

‘’You could say that’’

‘’It’s almost time for school again’’

Dick grimaces. Feeling the blood go to his head, he swings back to an upright position, releasing his legs and finally dropping down. The superhero landing isn’t necessary, but fun.

‘’When was the last time you and I went on vacation?’’ Bruce has that look in his eye like he’s up to something, but as usual his face remains impossible to read. An uncomfortable mix of nervousness and curiosity settle in Dick’s stomach.

‘’Crime doesn’t go on vacation’’

Bruce lets a smile peek through this time. ‘’Well, maybe it’s time to break the rules’’

‘’Are you okay? Did you hit your head?’’

‘’No, I just think you and I could use a break’’ He makes a sweeping hand gesture. ‘’Away from all of this’’

‘’Huh’’ Dick narrows his eyes. ‘’Where to?’’

‘’France. Paris, actually’’

‘’Ah- _ha_. So we wouldn’t technically be lying to the tabloids anymore’’

Bruce scoffs. ‘’Something like that’’

‘’Do I have to do my revision?’’

‘’It’s a vacation, Dick, that doesn’t mean you get to go back to school unprepared’’

Dick groans. Wiping  his chalk stained hands, eyes trained on the powder as it floats off in the air, he can’t ignore the twinge of excitement growing inside.

‘’When?’’

‘’Saturday morning. Early. We’re taking the jet, of course’’

‘’Oh’’ Dick looks up at him. Forehead wrinkled in worry gets quickly smoothened out and replaced by carefully constructed indifference.

‘’Do you have plans?’’

‘’Uh, no’’ Dick clears his throat. ‘’Well, uh, I mean -- Wally and I were gonna, uh… gonna hang out, is all’’

Bruce frowns. ‘’You can do that when you get back’’

‘’Yeah! I mean, it’s just… We had…  _plans_ ’’ Dick’s body language immediately becomes more nervous. While Dick has always been a fidgeter, it becomes excessive now and he is incapable of being still. It’s hard to tell if the flushed cheeks are due to his recent exercise or if he’s simply blushing, but he does appear abnormally interested in pulling at a hangnail.

‘’Plans’’ Bruce repeats, skeptical.

‘’Yup’’

‘’Are they team related?’’

‘’No’’ Dick says, voice trailing. ‘’It’s fine, we can just reschedule. How long do you wanna go for?’’

‘’Until August’’

‘’ _What?!_  That’s the entire summer!’’

‘’I am aware of the passage of time’’ Bruce’s mouth draws into a line. ‘’Think of it as your summer break’’

Dick splutters like an idiotic fish that’s just crawled onto land, attempting to learn the human tongue and failing badly.

‘’And who’s watching Gotham?’’ His voice comes out a bit more shrill than he had wanted.

‘’Don’t worry about Gotham. I’ve got that taken care of’’

Dick stares at him with open mouth, emotions fighting over which one gets to settle on his face.

‘’Do I get a choice?’’

Bruce’s face darkens. ‘’Of course you do, Dick. It’s a holiday, not exile’’

Dick exhales deeply, blowing some hair out of his face. Bruce isn’t sure if it’s an amusing gesture or frustratingly childish.

‘’We don’t have to leave on Saturday, if you’ve got plans with Wally’’

Dick eyes him suspiciously. ‘’Yeah?’’

‘’It’s a private jet, Dick, we can leave whenever we want’’

‘’Okay’’ He bites his lip. ‘’Okay. Fine. We can go after Saturday’’

‘’Great’’ Bruce’s voice is only slightly sarcastic. ‘’I’ll go get everything arranged with Alfred. That is, unless you have plans for Sunday, as well?’'

‘’Funny’’ Dick grimaces. ‘’And nope, schedule’s clear’’

‘’Fantastic’’

He watches Bruce leave with the sinking feeling in his stomach that he’s up to something, though he’s not entirely sure what.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘’Hold on a sec’’ A crackling in his earpeace draws Wally’s attention away, interrupting the heated movie discussion he's had with the Trickster for the past fifteen minutes. ‘’Uncle Barry, I’ll be back!’’

Leaving the rogue tied up to a landpost, he jogs up the bank’s facade in order to reach the roof. Hopefully there the reception is no longer hindered by fortified concrete and steel vaults.

‘’Yo!’’

‘’ _Kid Flash_ ’’ Batman’s unmistakable sandpaper voice carries through the distortion.

‘’Oh, hey, you’’ Wally glances down onto the street, eyes drawn to the oncoming police lights. The Trickster seems to have taken up idle conversation with his mentor. ‘’Wassaaaaap?’’

The line goes deathly silent. Wally laughs nervously. ‘’Sorry. Lame reference. Don’t worry about it! How may I assist you, sir Bat?’’

‘’ _That’s a terrible accent_ ’’

‘’Sorry’’

‘’ _I need to speak to you about Robin’’_

Wally’s heart instantly goes cold. ‘’Why? Is he okay? Is he injured? Did he do something stupid I swear to god if he did something stupid --’’

‘’ _Everything’s fine. It’s about Saturday’’_

His heart manages to slow down for only the briefest moment before it catches in his throat again. ‘’Saturday? Uh… Did Rob..?’’

‘’ _He didn’t tell me much, but I could deduce the rest by myself_ ’’

‘’You are the world’s greatest detective…’’

‘’ _What was that?_ ’’

‘’Nothing’’

There is a thoughtful pause.

‘’ _You listen to me carefully, West_ \--’’ Despite having known Dick for so many years, he thought he’d be used to Bruce’s threatening voice by now. But this  time he layers on the menace in his growl to a degree that Wally’s never heard before, his skin crawling with goose bumps. ‘’ _He’s been through something life changing. He is not who you knew before and you_ cannot _afford to forget that_ ’’

‘’Are you actually doing the whole ‘if you hurt my daughter’ shotgun speech?’’

‘’ _More or less_ ’’

‘’That’s… seriously disturbing and also sort of endearing at the same time’’ Wally throws a nervous look around, not really expecting to see Batman lurking anywhere, but unable to shake the feeling of paranoia. ‘’Listen, I hear ya, big boss. Don’t worry, okay? I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him! He’s my best pal! That’s literally the last thing I wanna do!’’

A long silence follows. It stretches on for so long he starts wondering if the line has been cut off, but then just the smallest of sighs slips through.

‘’ _I have my eyes on you_ ’’

‘’Creepy’’ Wally jokes. ‘’But understandable’’

_‘’Tread carefully’’_

Wally doesn’t have time to respond before the line cuts out. ‘’Jeez’’ He mumbles to the wind. ‘’Might as well be dating the Godfather’s kid’’

Uncle Barry’s shout draws him to peer over the edge, realizing the police are gone, presumably having taken the Trickster with them. Barry waves to him as well as he can with an armful of burritos. Wally wipes some sweat from his forehead and releases a deep breath he wasn’t entirely aware of holding.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

He’s being ridiculous. It’s Saturday, just like any other Saturday. He’s going to see Wally, like he’s done thousands of times before. This time isn’t different, except it  _is_ , and Dick doesn’t know how to deal with it. Butterflies infest his stomach and it’s  impossible to keep breakfast down, so he doesn't even try. There’s no reason to be nervous, not really. He’s  _not_  nervous. He’s terrified. He’s fine. Great. Just great.

Rushing through the hallway, mind caught up in how absolutely not worried he is, he nearly runs into Selina headfirst. She hasn’t even had the time to take her shoes off as he struggles to put on his own.

‘’Slow down there, Roadrunner! Where are you going?’’

‘’Nowhere’’

‘’Well, in that case, I better drive you’’

Dick looks up at her in mild horror, before quickly smoothening over his expression, staring at his shoe as he fails for the fifth time to tie it. Alfred holds out his jacket and gives Selina a mysterious look. ‘’The young master is going to see a friend’

‘’Where are you meeting up, kiddo?’’

Dick takes the jacket, though he’s not sure he’ll need it in this sun. Licking his palm he runs it hurriedly through his hair, trying to smooth out unruly locks and flyaways.

‘’It’s fine, Selina, wouldn’t wanna keep Bruce waiting’’

‘’Oh, I’m worth the wait’’ She smiles at him. ‘’Come on, where are you heading?’’

Dick sighs.

‘’The pier’’

‘’Alright then’’ She motions for the door, clapping her hands together. ‘’Chop chop!’’

Dick gives her a pained smile, but she’s clearly not asking. Taking an unwilling step towards her he tries his hardest to act normal.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘’So, what’s happening at the pier?’’

‘’Just some kind of street fest’’ Dick hasn’t torn his eyes away from the window since they left, Selina’s spotless, black Rolls Royce humming out of the driveway like an oiled cat.

‘’Oh, to be young again!’’ She glances at him, waiting for a reaction. Realizing she’s not getting one, she sighs dramatically. ‘’This is the part where you say, Oh Selina, you  _are_  young! You know, make a girl feel better about herself’’

Dick bites his lips to keep in a soft chuckle, but it manages to slip through and he feels forced to meet her eyes. Sunglasses sliding down on his nose, exposing his eyes, the two share eye contact for a brief but electrified moment.He imagines he smells burnt hair when he looks away.

‘’Why so nervous, Boy Wonder?’’ Selina turns back to the road, voice innocently sing song but with a devious glint ever present in her eyes. ‘’Is she that cute?’’

Dick is  _not_  blushing. Or so he tells himself. Why now of all times he’s having problems collecting himself, constantly wiping his hands against his jeans, can be nothing short of a cruel joke by the universe. It’s just a normal day doing normal things with his normal friend just like normal people do. Except today might change everything and he’s not sure he’s prepared to deal with that, but, otherwise, totally normal.

‘’Hey’’ Selina says then, voice more urgent than before. ‘’Promise me if you run into trouble, you’ll call me, okay?’’

Dick thinks he can actually feel his soul leave his body.

‘’What kind of trouble?’’ His voice comes out like dust. He clears his throat. ‘’And we’re just friends. And she’s not cute. And it’s  _not_  a girl’’

‘’Uh huh’’ Selina switches on her turn signal, taking a smooth turn towards the harbour. She seems to be driving much more carefully than he remembers; though maybe it’s just his imagination. ‘’Listen, I’m not your mom, I’m not gonna lecture you --’’

‘’Look, it’s nothing!’’ Dick hates how high pitched his voice comes out, but is powerless to stop it. ‘’I’m just hanging out with Wally! Okay? Wally!’’

Selina’s face curls in thoughtful mischief. He gives her a wary glance, instinctively pressing himself closer to the window. ‘’ _What_?’’ He says. ‘’What’s that look?’’

‘’Nothing’’ She says, like it is, indeed, something. ‘’Just wondering why you’re so sweaty’’

‘’It’s summer, it’s  _warm_ ’’

‘’The AC is on’’

Dick looks out the window. She blesses him with silence for the remainder of the trip. As soon as the silhouette of the wharf appears, sounds of seagulls drown out his heart’s violent beats. Crowds of people spring up like mushrooms from the ground and even through the glass of the car he can smell carnival popcorn and the stink of hamburger vans.

‘’Here we are’’ Just the smallest of smiles curls her lips. ‘’See your friend anywhere?’’

Wally appears as if conjured. Dressed in a large Hawaiian shirt and baseball hat, looking sunburnt and ready for anything, nose absolutely covered in white lotion.

‘’Yeah. Thanks for the ride’’

Selina winks. ’’Anytime’’

Hopping out of the car feels like a relief, a breath of seaside air rolling over him. Even leaving the cool AC of the car, it feels good just to get away from her knowing stare.

Selina rolls down her window to call out to him. ‘’Have fun, be good, don’t commit any crimes!’’

Dick, for some reason, throws her a peace sign. With a smile she rolls the window back up and glides out of the harbour.

As soon as he realizes that leaving the car is only replacing one awful situation for another, he starts to panic again. Each step closer to Wally twists his stomach further into a knot, but Wally seems normal, though slightly more agitated than usual. Maybe it’s from excitement, maybe nerves. Maybe Dick is just projecting.

Fighting against his legs, he wades through the crowd. By the time he’s arrived at his friend’s side, he’s forgotten all about how to breathe.

‘’Hey’’ Wally says with a stupid grin.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo my laptop broke so uh may be a bit of a delay until next time

 

‘’Nice disguise’’ Wally smirks. ‘’Very…. Breakfast at Tiffany’s’’

Dick rolls his eyes, though the motion is obscured by large sunglasses covering most of his face, accompanied by a beanie covering his hair and most likely the cause of his heavy sweating.

‘’I had to improvise’’

‘’See, I never got that, like, if Brad Pitt wears glasses, you would recognize him! Glasses don't magically  make you look like a different person!’’

‘’Are you saying I look like Brad Pitt?’’

‘’No’’ Wally snorts. ‘’You look like you’re in a Finnish rock band’’

Dick motions towards the festivities behind them, shirt growin dark with sweat stains as he irritably shifts on his feet. ‘’Are we doing this or not?’’

‘’Okay, sorry! Didn’t know you were so vain, playboy’’ Wally winks. Dick makes an attempt to appear annoyed, though the smile spreading on his lips makes this difficult.

‘’Okay, so’’ Wally throws an arm over his shoulders. ‘’How do you feel about the Hurl-a-Whirl?’’

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s an unusually hot and sunny day, bright and electrified with laughter and voices that only barely carry over loud techno music. Carnival attractions all play their own specific jingles, everything melding together with the smell of corn dogs, beer tents and the wet salty air of the sea.

Altogether it makes for a nauseating kaleidoscope of sensation, but for him it feels oddly comforting. It’s not the circus, but not too far from it, either. Even despite the squirming crowd, he manages to relax and enjoy himself; though he jumps at unexpected sounds and movements, Dick doesn’t really feel more paranoid than he would normally be. People don’t pay attention to him at all, and the two of them manage to pass through like just another couple of normal, unremarkable mortals.

Sweat stings his eyes but he’s too nervous to take the hat off, on the small chance someone will recognize him. Teetering on the thin edge of panic, heatstroke feels like  a fair price to pay to keep from falling off.

Wally’s talking a lot more than normal, but it eliminates any possible awkward silences as the unspoken wedges between them. Like a pebble in a shoe, something feels different. Not enough to suggest a drastic change, but just enough to throw everything slightly off kilter. He’s not sure if that’s good or bad.

‘’Are you okay?’’

Wally’s eyes find his, careful and searching. Dick sneers.

‘’I’m gonna implement a quota on how many times people can ask me that’’

‘’Seriously, dude” Wally scratches his neck. ‘’I dunno, this is…’’

‘’Weird?’’

Wally laughs. ‘’Different’’

‘’Uh huh’’ Almost immediately, his heart freezes, cold dread sweeping over him as his brain crumbles under self-deprecating, vicious thoughts. Dick takes a deep breath and tries to think of nothing. ‘’I don’t want this to be weird’’

‘’I don’t either!’’ Wally says. ‘’But if you’re _uncomfortable_ \--’’

‘’For crying out loud ‘’ Dick pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘’I’m not an egg! I won’t break if you mess up and drop me!’’

Wally gives him an odd look, trying to make sense of the metaphor. “Uh huh”

"You know what the most helpful thing would be? If people could just act _normal._ All this are-you-okay, careful, overprotective _crap_ is just reminding me that I’m _not"_

‘’Swear jar’’ Wally smiles meekly, but Dick just gives him a tired look. ‘’Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to, you know…’’

‘’I’m not _five,_  okay?’’

‘’I know that, I’m not trying to -’’ Wally bites the inside of his cheek. ‘’I dunno, man, I just don’t wanna mess up. Not just with all... You know’’ He gestures vaguely.

"The PTSD stuff’’

‘’Yeah’’ Wally says, mouth horribly dry. ‘’I don’t wanna do or say the wrong thing’’

‘’Then let’s not say anything’’ Dick meets his friends eye and something flickers between them. A flick switching on in the back of the head, with the satisfying click of things sliding into place. ‘’Let’s just do what we always do and see what happens’’

Wally nods thoughtfully. ‘’Go with the flow kinda thing?’’

‘’Yeah’’ Dick shrugs. ‘’Easy’’

‘’’Kay’’ Wally smirks. ‘’I can do that’’

Dick bites his lip to interrupt a forming smile. It _feels_ different but at the same time, things have always sort of been like this. It’s impossible to tell where one feeling ends or another begins, and Dick isn’t entirely sure he could ever make a clear distinction between friendship and… whatever the hell else is going on. If he even needs to make that distinction at all.

‘’Uh, by the way’’ Dick says and watches Wally, having conjured up a couple of corn dogs from somewhere, wipe some mustard on his shorts. ‘’I’m going away for a bit, over the rest of the summer’’

‘’What?! Where? _When_?‘’

‘’Paris’’ Dick grimaces. ‘’Tomorrow’’

‘’Tomorrow?! Dude! What the hell!’’

Dick elbows him in the side. ‘’Swear jar’’

Wally pouts, before his face takes on a more mischievous look.  ‘’Well, if it’s your last night in town, what do you wanna do?’’

Dick shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets. Just the hint of a smile can be seen, shoulders relaxing gradually.

‘’I was thinking --’’ Dick’s interrupted mid sentence by the absolute shock on Wally’s face, mouth wide open as he stares beyond his friend’s shoulder.

‘’Aw, shit’’ Wally says.

‘’Swear jar’’ Dick turns around to see whatever has his friend stupefied, curious to see what on Earth could leave Wally at a loss for words. ‘’Oh, shit’’

Smoke billows tall and dark from afar, towering over the pier like a titan of old, a monster laying the thick and bitter smell of destruction down on them. People have started panicking, not yet stampeding but whispering and shouting all at once, pushing their way through. Some curious to see the source of the commotion, some urgent to get away.

‘’We should make sure no one’s in dang--’’ A sudden explosion rattles the wharf. Once the vibrations have settled people instantly start to panic. ‘’Oh, come on!’’

Streaks of fire shoot into the air, spreading like spears of light cutting across the sky, all originating from the same point. Shrieks ensue from the crowd as a dark silhouette rises from the smoke, propelled upwards by what appears from a distance to be a jetpack. Dick gets a curious feeling he’s seen that silhouette before.

‘’Never a quiet night, huh?’’ Wally sighs, instinctively reaching inside his shirt to activate his suit.

Dick gives him an apologetic look. ‘’Crime never sleeps’’

 

* * *

 

 

 

Firefly runs out of fuel for his flamethrower eventually, but by that time the wharf is already quickly burning. Wally manages to suffocate most of the fire - one benefit of running really fast - but they’re unsuccessful in saving the ferris wheel, which soon succumbs to the amber flames and falls into the water.

They’ve managed to herd people to the relative safety of firm ground, but curious onlookers still brave the dangers of smoke and fire, and it’s not long before reporters have flooded the scene. By the time the fire brigade has arrived, Firefly forces them back with a shocking supply of grenades.

Dick tries to hit Firefly’s jetpack, but the rogue flies far enough into the sky that it becomes not only impossible to reach him, but outright dangerous to try. Police do their best to keep the reporters at bay, proving a difficult task.

A loud murmur spreads between the onlookers as Dick swings above them, wide wing-like cape fluttering dramatically behind.

‘’So’’ Wally says, seeing the crowd push and squirm behind them, their bodies like worms in a bucket. ‘’You just had to bring your suit to a date, huh?’’

“And what do you call this?” Dick moves his hand in a sweeping motion. “Business casual?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“We have so far been unable to confirm if the figure seen is indeed Robin, which would mark the first appearance of the vigilante in over six months -”

The reporter is nearly trampled as the mass suddenly moves around her, people shoving each other aside ruthlessly as the scene unfolds. The reporter turns around and spots the two heroes as they make their way towards the police, Firefly having been indisposed in a large ball of flame retardant foam.

She waves for her camera man to follow and climbs through her rivals to get a better angle. One inattentive police officer becomes swarmed with paparazzi and she takes her chance to sneak through the tape.

“Robin!” She shouts, running towards them. As the mic is shoved in his face, the unknown vigilante immediately stiffens. “Is that you? Did you change alias? Or are you his replacement? What's Speedy doing with you?”

“Uh, actually -” the other teen vigilante opens his mouth, but she ignores him in favour of his partner. The darkly clad boy stands rigid as a statue, jaws painfully tensed. She feels a cold feeling overcome her as doubt spreads in her chest.

“No comment!” Speedy or Kid Speed or whatever, pushes her aside with a dark look.

“Hey!” She grabs onto her camera man for balance. “Watch it kid or you'll have a lawsuit on your ass before you can even call your mom about it!”

The speedster blows her a raspberry, gently nudging his partner. The unknown hero jolts awake as if he had been sleeping, looking at them all in momentary disarray.

“I'm not -” he starts to say, but trails off.

Instantly the mic is back in his face. “Do you know Robin? Where is he? Have you seen him? Is he retired?”

Behind them police officers are catching up, calling for the reporters to leave. “This is a crime scene, lady!’’

The speedster pushes her, harder this time and the camera man has to hold her back from swinging a punch. Police officers soon reach them and start herding them away. “Come on! Police business, get outta here, ya vultures!”

She tries to fight the officer, until she looks over his shoulder and finds the vigilantes have gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘’Sorry Firefly ruined our…’’ Dick gestures vaguely, the words stuck in his throat like a particularly bitter pill.

‘’Nah, it’s cool. Explosions are romantic’’ Wally smiles at the ground.

Dick opens his mouth, face scrunched up in a twisted expression of anxiety, absurdity and joy. A small, confused laugh escapes his lips.

‘’So…’’ Wally sways on the balls of his feet. ‘’Paris, huh?’’

‘’Yup. Don't sweat it, I’ll be online anyway’’

‘’Obviously’’ Wally snorts. ‘’What kinda freak isn’t online 24/7 when they go on holiday to a beautiful country?’’

‘’Ha ha’’

‘’Look, just get tan, relax and come back with a souvenir, deal? And get some cheese while you're at it. Make it stinky”

Dick smirks. ‘’Make sure the mountain is in one piece and keep an eye on the team and you got a deal’’

‘’Deal!’’ Wally grabs his hand in a strong shake, grin splitting his face cartoonishly. ‘’Alright, dude, hop on!’’

‘’Huh?’’ Dick watches his friend crouch down into a squat with growing confusion.

‘’I’ll drop you off! What kinda date would I be if I just let you take the bus?’’

‘’It’s fine’’

‘’Come on, dude! I don’t have all day!’’ Dick casts a paranoid look around. Satisfied no one is watching, he climbs onto his friend’s back. ‘’Oof, getting heavy!’

Dick slaps him on the back of the head, releasing an easy, bubbly laugh out of Wally's throat. His body feels light, despite the added weight on his back.

‘’Ready?’’

Dick clings onto him like a newborn monkey, heart aching pleasantly with anticipation. ‘’Ready’’

Wally speeds off like a gust of wind, leaving the dust to settle behind him and the world becomes nothing but a blur of gentle colours. Dick’s heart is in his throat, but he feels good, in an uncomfortable sort of way. Pleasantly warm and nauseated at the same time.

Wally takes a detour past scenic parks and old neighborhoods, holding onto the moment just a little longer. His shirt is plastered with sweat by the time they reach the manor, heart and lungs aching.

Dick watches him thoughtfully, hesitating on the step.

“Alright, safe travels” Wally pats him on the back.

“See ya”

“Don't get too fat on snails, alright?”

Dick rolls his eyes. “Don't do anything stupid”

Wally huffs, but a smile remains in his eyes

“Au revoir, cerveau d'oiseau!”

Dick says nothing as he opens the door but disappears behind it with a smile and a two finger wave.

“Hey!” Wally shouts, stopping him in his tracks.

“What?”

Wally blows him a kiss. “Don't forget about me!”

Dick flips him off and shuts the door.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so after being delayed by the repair centre, my laptop came back with a new issue soooo ... pray for me

The silence as he enters the hallway is deafening. As much as he’s wanted to be early, get in before anyone else might have the sense to, he also knows it defeats the purpose.

A battle half-won is a battle lost and running away won’t make things easier. At least he knows this, even if he doesn’t feel like it’s true. Taking a deep breath, drawing in the familiar scent of polished mahogany and cleaning products, he clenches trembling hands and keeps walking.

A heavy weight lies upon him, pressing his head towards the floor but he refuses to look down. Focusing instead on nothing, a point on the horizon that doesn’t truly exist, he manages to keep walking. Their eyes lie on him like burning coals, but he walks, lungs shrinking.

He’s prepared for this, he’s prepared for this, he prepared, he prepared he _prepared_ \--

‘’What’s up, circus freak!’’ Some tall senior he’s never spoken to holds up a hand for a high five. Dick thinks he might be on the lacrosse team.

He doesn’t hit his palm against the older teen’s, but he does stop to meet his eyes.

‘’Yo’’ Dick says, mechanically,  and swallows.

An awkward silence falls between them, with the senior uncertainly glancing at his friends, who shrug cluelessly back at him. They all turn to him with nervous, plasted on smiles.

‘’You good?’’ The senior tries again, slowly lowering his hand. Dick narrows his eyes, as if this boy is some sort of mirage, a hallucination by his sick brain, here to taunt him. Or maybe it’s a trick, a bet, a cruel joke that any second now will end with his head in a trash can. Maybe he’s being paranoid.

As his defenses raise, he deliberately takes a deep, focused breath, relaxing with the exhale. ‘’Yeah’’ he says, and tries a fake Charity-Gala-Smile. ‘’All good. You?’’

‘’Uh’’ The teen looks taken by surprise at the question. ‘’Yeah, uhm… Good. Yeah. Go Wolves!’’

Dick bares his teeth. ‘’Go Wolves’’

The bell rings, effectively breaking the tension as they all draw a sigh of relief. Miracles exist, he thinks, once the shock has settled.

‘’Well, see ya, Dumbo’’ The senior winks at him. His friends wave goodbye  in varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Just like that they’ve disappeared, swallowed by a swarm of students. Dick remains unmoving, his body dividing the crowd in two, like rivers flowing around him. They push against his small frame, but don’t really seem to notice he’s there. Every accidental bump, every shoulder in his side and elbow in his back, sends a jolt of fear through his body, but no one so much as looks at him.

Breathing, breathing, breathing, he counts backwards from 100 and starts to move.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘’Dick!’’

He hears her before he sees her, but even that isn’t enough to prepare him for Barbara’s unstoppable _glee_. Seeing him exit his classroom for second period, she stops just shy of an inch from crashing into him, looking like she was about to hug him but stopped herself at the last moment. Face flushed from excitement, possibly also embarrassment, it is outshone by the brightness in her eyes.

‘’Hey, Babs’’ Practicing smiling so much makes it almost a reflex to plaster on, even now. His face is starting to hurt from all the well-meaning people  wishing to welcome him back, greeting him and asking him about his illness. He forgets what he’s supposed to be suffering from, but no one else seems to know, either. As long as he smiles at them, they seem not to worry about it.

‘’You look so tan!’’

‘’You look so… pale’’

She huffs irritably, still with that light in her eyes. ‘’How are you? How have you been?’’

‘’Still alive’’

His heart aches as soon as he’s said it and an ice cold silence falls between them. Despite the loud background noises of chatting students, shoes scuffing and lockers slamming shut, he feels like they could hear a pin drop in the tension.

‘’I mean…’’

‘’I know what you meant’’ She smiles, but it’s tinted with something ugly and sad. ‘’So. Year 9, huh?’’

‘’Yup’’

‘’Hey,  you!’’ Bette says, slinging an arm around Barbara’s shoulders, not spotting Dick until it’s too late. ‘’Oh! Uh, am I interrupting... something?’’

Barbara shoves her off.

‘’I’m just welcoming Dick back from...’’ Her voice trails off into awkward silence.

‘’Oh, yeah’’ Bette’s says, giving Dick a quick look-over. ‘’You’ve been gone for some time, huh? How’s life on the other side?’’

‘’Sunny’'

It feels mechanical to make small talk, but not impossible. Just like a bicycle chain, once the rust washes off, it does work. Not perfectly, but enough to get you where you need to be. If he can just remember how to hold a conversation, he might actually make it through the day.

Bette, who must’ve been holding it the entire time, shakes the Gotham Gossiper in front of them.

‘’I can tell!’’ She chortles, the glossy paper swishing back and forth in her hand. Dick follows its movements, transfixed by the photo of himself, hidden behind Bruce’s body on a street in Paris. ‘’Looking good there, playboy!’’

The deliberate spotting in front of paparazzi had almost pushed him over the edge. Taking him back to that evening, his hands gripping onto a cold facade, up in the wailing wind of a tall building, absolutely sure he’s about to die. But Bruce had shielded him behind a brilliant smile and faked annoyance, and everything had felt a little bit better.

He’d actually managed to enjoy Paris. He’d sent some photos to Wally, texted Artemis and M’gann regularly, he even received a voice recording from Kaldur wishing him well. Paris had passed by in a blur, both insufferably long and horribly short, filled with the equally powerful feelings of homesickness and liberation.

Back in Gotham now, he’s half convinced it didn’t even happen.

‘’Nice picture’’ Barbara’s face splits in a teasing grin. ‘’I’m guessing you didn’t bring any souvenirs, huh?’’

Dick huffs.

‘’I’ll send you a postcard next time’’

She points at him. ‘’Oh, I’m counting on it’’

Despite the anxiety brewing in his chest, he can’t help but feel calmer in her presence.

‘’How uh--’’ Dick clears his throat. ‘’How have you been, anyway?’’

‘’Alright’’ The girls share a look. ‘’Except I think I twisted my knee during softball pract -’’

_The hammer falls swift and heavy. It is unforgiving in its destruction; the crackling of bone echoes between the walls like a bell’s somber toll.  He feels his kneecap splinter, tearing through skin as his vision whites out. He screams even though it will do nothing to relieve him from this. It will do nothing to stop them. Still, screaming is all he has._

‘’Hey, you okay?’’ Dick blinks, and all of a sudden comes face to face with Barbara, her concerned eyes replacing sickly yellow. The pain subsides, replaced by the weight of her hand gently touching his shoulder. Her warmth spreads through him, burning, prickling and unpleasant. Somehow it helps pull him back, all the way back from inside his own head.

‘’Yeah’’ He clears his throat, blinking. ‘’Yeah, that’s … I’m - what?’’

The two girls share a look of concern. Bette quickly tries to cover it up with a smile that fails to deliver, Barbara doesn’t even try. Forehead creased in worry, she lets her hand drop to her side.

‘’Do you want me to take you to the nurse’s office?’’

Dick shakes his head, feeling a buzzing from inside his skull.

‘’Don’t worry about it, I’m just --’’ Flecks of white shimmer across his vision, almost completely obscuring the hallway around them. ‘’I’m fine, really. I’ll see you at lunch, maybe?’’

Grinding her teeth, Barbara just stares at him for what feels like forever.

‘’You take care, okay?’’ She says, feeling at once relieved and horrified to leave him.

‘’Will do’’ Dick forces a shaky smile to his lips, skin drained of all colour. ‘’See ya’’

He wipes his hands on his trousers and turns around to leave.

 

 

* * *

 

 

With his body on constant pins and needles, he notices her presence  as soon as she enters the room. A quick glance over assures him that she’s not a threat. Just a junior. Not a mad rogue out to kill him, or one of _them_ back to finish the job. That day may never come. Probably will never come.

But it might. There’s always that what if what if _what if_ chafing against his brain. Every second he’s alive, every second they are, is a second of risk.

‘’Hey’’ She doesn’t dare to meet his eyes for more than a moment, hands shaking ever so slightly.

‘’Uh, hey’’ Dick frowns, trying to remember if he knows her or not. He doesn’t, but why else would she be here? Generally only friends or enemies pay any sort of attention to him, not the people in between.

‘’I… Uh...’’ The girl keeps touching her left arm, rubbing at it underneath the jumper, pulling at the sleeve.

He waits for her to speak, but she fails to manage the courage. It has taken so much simply to get this far, she’s run out of ideas for how to continue. Dick’s way beyond uncomfortable now and would leave if it wasn’t for that look on her face like she needs something.

‘’Thanks’’ She mumbles, hastily meeting his eyes.

‘’For what?’’ Maybe he helped her with homework once. Maybe she’s related to someone he’s helped with homework. Maybe she thinks he’s someone else.

She looks at him again, unwavering this time, and he feels so large and so small under her gaze.

‘’Your foundation saved my life’’

‘’Uh’’ Not sure why, he feels sick.

‘’My family couldn’t …’’ She hesitates, voice shaking. ‘’We couldn’t afford a therapist. Not covered by our insurance… I- I got here on a scholarship, and uh…’’ Her voice trails off and she’s back to staring at the floor again.

‘’Thank you’’ She says. ‘’I-I - I know it’s -- I’m sorry you’re going through what you’re going through, Grayson. I just wanted you to know that… I mean -- it’s -’’

The room becomes painfully quiet.

‘’It’s fine’’ Dick hears himself say, but it doesn’t sound like his voice. ‘’I’m glad you got the, uh… the help you needed’’

The girl nods. ‘’I’m… getting there’’

‘’Okay’’

‘’Takes time, I guess’’

He scratches his neck, body hot with discomfort and embarrassment, though he’s not entirely sure what for.

‘’Yeah, I know’’ He grimaces. ‘’But it… it does get better. I know that’s a lame thing to say but… I don’t know’’

She lets out a small chuckle. ‘’No, it’s okay, I know. It’s …. yeah’’

They stare at each other for another long, unbearable moment.

‘’Well, that’s it’’ She shrugs.  ‘’Bye’’

Dick nods. ‘’Bye’’

While his hands soon unclench, it takes much longer for the cold weight in his stomach to let go.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He can’t remember how they got here, or what they’d been doing before. Doesn’t even remember going to the mountain, or finishing the school day. Strangled by a blur, his mind can’t seem to remember much of anything. Teachers hadn’t even bothered acknowledging when he zoned out in class. If that’s pity or compassion, he doesn’t care to think about.

But here he is, anyway, in a hoodie that’s way too big for him he got as a hand me down from Clark, who was way too big for it. It doesn’t smell like him anymore, long overpowered by lavender detergent, but it’s big and warm and comforting when everything else is cruel and unbearable.

Wally’s talking, and joking and laughing, he’s laughing too, and they’re on Wally’s laptop watching live game streams and getting bombarded by M’gann’s snapchat messages. The unforgiving weight in the pit of his stomach has been replaced by gentle warmth, which has spread through his body, relaxed his muscles to a point where he is only barely aware of the noises outside Wally’s bedroom door.

Wally’s close and even warmer, cheeks flushed and breath rolling over him, warm and Dick feels dizzy. But in a good way. His body feels static, energy under his skin sparking like a live wire and the butterflies in his chest double as razors. Wally’s close and warm and there and they’re inches apart, Wally’s hand partially touching his and their bodies crowded together, every exhale feels shared between them as Wally shows him something on Billy’s instagram, but whatever he says is lost in a garbled mess of his pulse in his ears.

And Wally’s looking at him, and he’s looking at Wally, whose eyes are green and whose breath smells like bologna and whose lips are soft and warm and they might be kissing, might be touching, a hand on his lower back, a phone sliding to the floor with a thud, a heart beating fast and swelling and --  hands, too many hands, too many eyes, too many people, watching and touching like they shouldn’t touch and --

Pain splits his head in two. White, searing, scorching, unbearable _pain_ and his heart can’t beat any faster than this. The walls are blurry, the air smells like old sweat -- or mold, rotten wood, rusted metal, cold hard clinical -- not like blood, but it feels wrong. Where is he? Who’s touching? Is he touching? Who? Where? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?Why?Why?Why? Why? Why?Why?Why?Why? _Why?_

‘’Dude!’’

A voice, his voice -- Wally, Wally’s voice, Wally speaking from somewhere - Wally’s eyes looking at him. Disgust? Anger? Anger? Disgust? What? Wally’s voice, ringing echo, calling. Maybe? Who?

Asking, asking asking, Wally’s hand on his shoulder. Hopefully. Wally, looking, Wally’s eyes, concern, concern, fragile, fragile, _weak._

“It's okay if you don't--’’ Wally’s concern is too heavy. It hurts to care it hurts to care it hurts to be cared about it hurts to be it hurts it hurts too much it _hurts --_ ‘’I’m sorry, I should’ve -- Dude, dude, _look_ at me, _please_ ’’

He feels tears down his face but can’t tell if he’s crying. His face, numb like in the biting cold of winter. Heart beating ever faster, thud thud thud thud thud, a drum in his head and his chest while the hole inside him grows larger.

‘’Come on, breathe in. Once, twice --’’ He’s breathing, Wally’s talking. Clark’s hoodie smells like lavender now. It’s worn and has holes by the elbows. It’s too big. Too big for him. Wally’s room smells like dirty socks and chicken flavored instant noodles. Wally’s eyes are green.

Wally’s got freckles, one, two, three four five six --

‘’That’s it’’ Wally says, his hands on his shoulders, warm and burning, burning burning itching _wrong_ \-- seven eight nine ten eleven, twelve freckles, thirteen -- Wally’s got green eyes and red hair and is wearing a stupid shirt washed too many times.

Wally’s phone chimes as it receives another message, and the sound is as jarring and sharp as a nail driven through his spine. It draws him, painfully, ripping him from the fabric of -- what? -- M’gann has red hair and freckles.

Wally’s freckles are flushed over by red and his eyes are glassy and he’s looking at Dick in that way that Dick _hates_.

‘’I’m sorry’’ Wally says. ‘’I’m sorry, man, I’m --’’

His eyes have too much remorse and Dick doesn’t _like_ it. He wants to vomit. His stomach crawls inside him, twisting and pulling and making him want to turn himself inside out. Something happens then. Dick’s got his head in a waste basket and he’s vomiting vomiting vomiting. He can’t remember eating chicken.

All this time a howling, a pitiful, disgusting sound has been coming from his own throat. Whirring and whining like machinery gone wrong. Like a mistake, like - Wally’s hand on his back, rubbing circles in between his shoulder blades. A shiver runs down his spine and he thinks it’s comfort, but then again, it might be pain. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

Dick’s crying and crying and heaving and spitting until he feels like his face is going to explode, all the blood rushing to his head, vessels bursting in the whites of his eyes until he looks like a bad dream. Dick feels the earth open up underneath him and suck him under.

Wally’s got thirty-three freckles and green eyes and chewed down nails.

Someone’s apologizing. Someone’s sorry, sorry, sorry, always someone’s so _sorry_ . Everything hurts and everything’s wrong. Out of place, something wrong has happened here, in him, the pieces are all jagged, nothing fits, it doesn’t _fit_ \-- Wally smells like men’s 2-in-1 shower gel and shampoo and his arms are heavy around him.

Dick’s body trembles, fingers tingling as he tries to remember how he got here.

‘’I’m sorry’’ Wally says. ‘’I’m sorry, I’m really sorry’’

Wally’s socks don’t match and his body hurts to touch.


	45. Chapter 45

The wind is cold this far up, howling, sharp and wolf-like through the trees. He watches them sway, head crowded with thoughts that stretch and twist beyond recognition, completely immersed in himself.

Only through years of conditioning is he able to notice Artemis’ presence. And maybe, a bit of that old, old fear.

‘’Bad day, huh?’’ She sits down next to him, arms draped over long legs as she shoots him a brief smile.

Dick feels his whole body sag, his point of gravity sinking closer and closer against the cold mountain rock. Pulling out a soft pack of cigarettes, she looks all at once apologetic and defensive.

‘’Don’t tell anyone’’ She knocks out a cigarette into her palm. ’’I stole ‘em from Roy’’

Dick rolls his eyes. Opening his mouth to say something, he only manages to sigh.  It seems so trivial in the light of things.

Artemis’ eyes dart quickly back and forth as she lights the cigarette, choking on the first drag. He watches the tears spring up in her eyes and can’t deny being at least a little amused.

‘’I don’t, like - I don’t do it _often_ -’’

‘’It’s fine’’ Dick says and shrugs. ‘’None of my business’’

Artemis grimaces, face reddening as she coughs. ‘’I guess we all do stupid things to cope, huh?’’

‘’Guess so’’

Once she manages to stop coughing, the cigarette has gone out. With her fingers numbed by the cold, it takes some effort to get it burning again.

‘’I keep expecting things to be...’’ Dick speaks quietly enough for her to struggle to hear him, but not enough to be completely swallowed by the wind. ‘’Like everything’s… normal’’

Artemis nods thoughtfully. ‘’I had that when my sister left’’

They share a quick moment of burning eye  contact, before they’re both forced to look away. Artemis fidgets with her hands as she speaks, gently tapping ashes off the cigarette, its warm glow piercing through the dark. The smell is thick and prickly, crowding around them and turning his stomach, but he can’t find the energy to do leave. Doesn’t really want to.

‘’Kept thinking she was gonna be there when I got home from school ’’ She shrugs, casually, just one shoulder, as if she can convince herself it doesn’t hurt anymore. ‘’Mom kept putting a plate out for dinner…’’ She snorts. ‘’It takes a while before your brain catches up’’

‘’ _If_ it does’’ Dick sneers at the dark. ‘’I feel like it’ll always just be a surprise. Like I’ll never get used to it and it… it’s... it _sucks_ ’’

‘’It does suck!’’

He looks at her now, searching, like she could possibly hold the answers. Artemis’ stomach turns. The sharp cut of nicotine in her lungs can’t fully cover up the gentle ache of helplessness. She takes a deep drag, anyway.

‘’Wanna tell me what happened?’’

‘’Not really’’

‘’Okay’’

They say nothing, but the silence between them is soft and unassuming. She smokes one more cigarette before her throat feels too raw. Head spinning lightly, it is a relief when the cold wind sweeps her blood-warmed cheeks.

‘’It was just a stupid kiss’’ Dick says in a voice that only barely makes it. The way his heart keeps beating, loud and sharp and painful, he wonders if she can hear it, or if the noise is all in his head. Swallowing against the drying of his throat, his eyes flicker only briefly to meet hers before the sting of humiliation - for what? for what? _What_? - forces him to look away.

‘’I can’t even kiss someone without being ...‘’ He trails off.

‘’It takes time, you know’’

‘’I’ve already wasted a year! A whole year just - feeling sorry for myself! I just want to move on! I just want to, you know, get kissed, have fun, relax, hang out, play Mario Kart. Live my damn life’’

‘’I’m not gonna pretend to know how you’re  feeling...’’ Artemis catches his evasive stare and holds on to it like the edge of a cliff. ‘’But maybe it’s not a great time for you to get… _involved_ with someone... right now’’

Dick sighs, looking out at the landscape with a growing sense of tiredness, the sort that doesn’t go away with sleep. The sort that maybe never goes away at all.

‘’I don’t know’’ He feels like his chest is caving in, though he knows it’s just imagination. ‘’I don’t know, I… Do you -- Is it a bad idea?’’

Artemis shrugs. ‘’I don’t know, man, I mean, it’s been a tough year! You’ve just _now_ started to even sort of recover from -- from a _horrible_ nightmare of a trauma. Not really a good grounds for a relationship. Or whatever you and Kid Mouth’s got going on’’

Dick gives her a dark stare. ‘’Didn’t tell you who it was’’

She rivals his stare with equal measure. ‘’Didn’t have to’’

Dick turns away with an indignant blush.

‘’I’m an idiot’’

Artemis eyes him thoughtfully, gently biting the inside of her cheek. It’s not really any of her business, but at the same time, it kind of is. Every shaky step forward feels so fragile, as if their entire existence is piled on the most unstable and precarious of champagne flutes. A tower that could just as easily crumble into pieces, leaving them a mess they might never clean up.

‘’Look’’ Artemis sighs. ‘’I’ve never -- ‘’ She makes a trailing hand gesture, face burning with a revealing shade of pink.

‘’What?’’ Dick cocks a brow. ‘’Never had a boyfriend?’’

‘’Yeah’’

‘’Me neither’’

The look she shoots him almost makes him smirk. That deep, heavy lump of lead in their guts, mixes with a hint of incredulous amusement.

‘’If you need me to beat him up, you know where to find me’’

Dick chuckles. ‘’For sure’’

‘’And look, I could be wrong! I mean, I’m not Oprah. What the hell do I know?’’

Dick bites his lip to keep from chuckling, determined to sulk for at least a little while longer. Instead, he scoffs. ‘’Doesn’t take much to ruin your whole life, huh’’ 

‘’I know. It’s shit’’

He glances at her, unsure of how to react at first, before a garbled laugh escapes him, unable to be restrained this time.

‘’It _is_ shit’’

‘’You know we’ve got your back, right?’’ Boring her eyes into him, he thinks he can feel them scrape against bone. ‘’I mean it’’

Dick regards her for a moment of absolute stillness.

‘’Yeah’’ He says. ‘’I know’’

Artemis takes out the pack cigarettes again, watching them in her hand, crumpled and bent. It’s a cheap corner store brand. Even Ollie will sneak one now and then, not that he can’t afford better tobacco. It’s just the perfect type for misery smoking.

Crumpling it up in her hand, she stretches her arm back and sends the cigarettes flying through the night with a long, powerful throw. Even against the resistance of the wind, the pack still gets pretty far before being swallowed by darkness.

Dick whistles.

‘’Wanna talk about it?’’

Artemis snorts.

‘’Not really’’

‘’Fair enough’’

‘’We never....’’ She makes a vague hand motion. ‘’Talked about… you know’’

‘’Lots of things to talk about lately’’

Artemis snorts. ‘’Yeah. Trauma’s like that, I guess’’

They share a long, searching look.

Artemis hesitates. But only briefly. ‘’You know what I mean. The whole... suicide thing’’

‘’Oh’’

They’re both quiet for a while.

‘’I’m not sure I should thank you or… apologize’’ Dick wrings his hand, looking out into the night, determined not to face her.

The pit of his chest is numb, and that numbness coats the rest of his body, coating his bones. Like an anaesthetic, spreading slowly, until his mouth begins to move.

‘’I -’’ His voice breaks for a moment, but only a moment. ‘’I tried to kill myself again. A while ago, I mean. Not recently’’

Ice cold tendrils soak through her heart in seconds.  It feels as if every animal, every screaming insect, stop together, the wind ceasing like a moment trapped in time. It hurts to breathe. She tries to, anyway.

‘’Okay’’ She says, because that’s all there really is.

‘’It was, uh… I don’t even really... It wasn’t even anything big that set me off, it was just… stupid, actually’’

He takes a deep breath, cold sweat dripping down his neck. ‘’What’s more stupid is, I don’t think I _want_ to die, anymore. I just want to get on with my life’’

He licks his lip, heart beating fast. Feeling energized and nervous. ‘’I mean, I know I’m getting better, sort of… It’s just…’’

‘’Does Bruce know?’’ Her voice breaks. She’s vaguely regretting throwing those cigarettes away.

‘’Yeah’’ Dick huffs. ‘’It was stupid. I tried to hang myself with a belt and it snapped, to no one’s surprise. Next thing I know I’m on the floor and Bruce and Alfred are just hovering over me and -- and all _I_ can think is how Batman’s gonna _kill_ me because I tied the knot wrong’’

He laughs, quietly, and the sound is lost in the night. Dick looks at her with a soured smile and a bad taste in his mouth. ‘’Sorry. That’s not _your_ problem’’

‘’No!’’ Artemis nearly shouts, before reigning herself in again, heart halfway up her throat with its furious beating. ‘’No, I mean, you can _talk_ to me, Dick! I care about you, remember?’’

His smile seems just a little more genuine.

‘’I was _so_ scared that night! I don’t remember the last time I was so terrified, but seeing you up there?’’ Artemis fails to suppress a shudder. ‘’I never want that again’’

‘’I’m --’’

‘’Stop saying you’re sorry! It’s not about being sorry, nobody wants you to apologize for feeling like shit! We get it, we don’t _need_ you to be sorry!’’ She stares at him with an intensity that is almost physical. ‘’What we need is for you to keep trying and to… to talk to us, when you’re there, you know? Whenever you… you get to that edge, tell someone. We’ll be there, I promise’’

Dick bites his cheek to keep himself from crying. He’s been getting better at it lately, but there is something very raw and open about the way she looks at him, and that sincerity burns.

‘’See, the problem with people caring about you is that you’ll let people down if you die’’ Dick chuckles darkly. ‘’I guess I just…  couldn’t give up whatever options I had left. At least, if I kill myself, I’ll always have a plan B, you know?’’

‘’Yeah, well, it’s a sucky back up plan. It’s not even a backup, it’s a back _out_. And you’re not the type of person who backs out of things!’’

He doesn’t respond.

‘’Someday’’ Artemis wets her lips. ‘’Someday you’ll care about yourself too. But until then, don’t let the rest of us down, okay?’’ She looks away. ‘’We love you, dumbass’’

Dust lodges in his throat. It seems like some of it gets in his eyes too.

‘’You and Roy saved my life’’

‘’Sorry, not sorry’’ Artemis says, eyes looking glassy, face red from holding back an embarrassing sob. ‘’I’d do it again. Without hesitation’’

Dick looks at her.

‘’When my family was murdered, I always thought that getting closure was gonna make the pain go away. But it doesn’t. I mean, I’m lucky to have the guy behind bars, some people don’t even get that but… It never goes away and I don’t think this will, either. And that… I don’t know what to do with that’’

‘’You do what you can, however you can, and you keep doing it until it’s not so tough, anymore’’ She shrugs. ‘’One day at a time. Sounds cliché but…’’

He hums thoughtfully.

‘’So, rather than sitting here like a couple of sad sacks…’’ Artemis gets to her feet and tries to shake the stiffness out of her legs.  ‘’Wanna stay out here, crawl back to your loverboy or play Mario Kart?’’

Dick looks at her for what seems like an unnecessary amount of time.

‘’Dibs on Toad’’

 

  


* * *

 

 

Dick crawls back into bed at the edge of morning,  having played round after round until Artemis passed out on the couch. Even now, the coldness in his bones remains, but slowly thaws as he crawls underneath the covers.

Wally’s managed to fall asleep, drool dripping down his cheek as he lies stretched across the bed. Dick tries not to disturb him, and normally wouldn’t be able to -- Wally will sleep through a nuclear blast, if he has to -- but this time he  jolts awake as if stung.

‘’Rob?’’ He blinks tiredly at him, wiping at the crust in his eye.

‘’Hey’’ Dick says, and bites his lip.

‘’You okay?’’ Wally gets up on his elbows, studying his face with a look of worry Dick’s grown accustomed to. It almost feels weird not to be looked at like he’s about a second away from imploding.

‘’Yeah’’ Dick nods slowly.  ‘’Sleep okay?’’

‘’Not really’’ Wally snorts. ‘’Have you been up all night?’’

‘’Gotta defend my title as the Steve McQueen of Mario Kart’’

‘’Oh, yeah? Did you win?’’

Dick huffs. ‘’Sometimes’’

‘’Are we... are we going to fast? I know you hate me asking that but --’’

‘’You’re right, I _do_ hate it’’ Dick feels his face heat up. ‘’It’s fine, I just… I’m _adjusting_ ’’

‘’I’m that bad of a kisser, huh?’’

Dick’s eyes go dark as to be almost black..

‘’ _Ki_ dding!’’ Wally puts up a hand in defense. ‘’ Ix nay on the issing kay!’’

‘’I didn’t say that’’ Dick huffs. Wally gives him a questioning look, brows arched so far up he thinks they might join his hairline.

‘’Why do you smell like cigarettes?’’

‘’I do _not_ ’’

Wally sniffs the air dramatically, nostrils flaring. ‘’Mr Grayson, have you been _smoking_?’’

‘’No! It wasn’t --’’ He lies down in the bed, arms covering his face.  ‘’Screw you, I’m not ratting out a friend!’’

‘’Eh, I’ve got an idea of who it is anyway’’ Wally falls down on the bed with a heavy bounce, making the mattress shake. He looks at Dick with a stupid grin.

‘’Isn’t in time for your birthday soon?’’ Dick says, arms moving down to rest at his sides.

‘’Ouch’’

Dick rolls his eyes. ‘’At least I remembered, this year’’

‘’Uh huh. Did you get me a gift, Richie Rich?’’

An elbow smacks him right in the chest. It hurts, but Wally’s yelp is quickly drowned in his laugh. He turns to look at his friend, eyes bright and awake. Squeezing Dick’s shoulder, he lets his hand linger. His chest swells as Dick doesn’t push him away.

By the time the sun has risen, they both drift gently off to sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s cold. Always so damn _cold_. No matter what time of year it is, blazing July heat or mild March, it’s always as cold as the depths of hell in this rotten place. Just a cold, dark hole to throw crazy people in because you don’t feel like wasting precious time or government resources. It’s all rotten, and to work here, you gotta be rotten too. At least, if you aren’t, you will be, by the end of it.

The guard bares his coffee stained teeth, showing receding gums in a smile that’s wide and hard and ugly. He taps on the glass like a child at the zoo, leaving stains of grease and sweat behind.

‘’Hey, Michelangelo!’’ Even with the distance between them, he can smell the man’s putred, cigarette infested breath through the air holes.

Above his head the AC howls it’s icy current down on him. He stopped counting the goosebumps a long time ago and got used to the numbness in his fingers.

‘’Hey, I’m talking to you!’’ The guard knocks again, harder this time, the sound reverberating through the wall. ‘’Ya got a minute? Or are you too busy navel gazing?’’

He looks up, caught in the hypnotic pattern of his hand. Where once there had been muscle, now remains only dry, ashen skin draped over aching bones.

‘’ _What_?’’ He snaps, so unlike himself. His voice sounds the same but feels alien, like he is speaking through a stranger’s mouth.

But that’s what happens when you stay too long in this place. You rot. You change. A metamorphosis of shit, after which there is nothing recognizable about the person in the mirror anymore.

‘’You’ve got a visitor request’’ The guard’s sneer never fades, pulling the corners of his mouth tightly to a point of near pain. A sickening odour of smug superiority oozes from him; a miasma of self-satisfaction.

‘’Oh?’’ He says. ‘’By whom?’’ Despite himself, his interest still peaks. No one ever gets visitors here. At least, not good ones.

The guard hesitates. A move so uncharacteristic, it only aids to wet his appetite and fuel his curiosity. Pray tell, pray tell, pray tell. He must not let it get the better of him.

‘’Has the king requested an audience with us maggots?’’

‘’You could say that’’ The guard sucks air through his teeth. ‘’The Bat wants to see ya’’

Ah.

How wrong he was.

Good things _can_ grow from filth.

He smiles.

‘’I would be delighted’’


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy anniversary 😱 
> 
> I got distracted by my nano project but I'm back and ready to steer this towards the finish line.
> 
> Happy new year and thank you for your support !! Couldn't do it his without y'all.

 He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, being here. It’s crazy, he thinks, how much can change in a year.

Arkham smells the same -- old linoleum, old cotton, old dish rags, old, old, old and forgotten, best never thought about -- Arkham looks the same, sounds the same, but it  _ feels _ different. There is always a palpable sense of dread when setting that first, heavy step across the threshold. Even after years, to the most hardened, it never quite gets easier.

There is just something about Arkham. Something beyond the smells and the sensations, beyond the people staring, shouting, spitting, screaming. Something in the grey of a doctor’s hair, bags under an orderly’s eyes; there is something uniquely, desperately empty about it all. An indifference coats every wall, every tile and every bursting pipe, clinging to his own skin, in some manner of way, even hours after leaving.

He never really understood how comfortable that numbness, that apathy had been. At the time he used to think it was desolate, mood killing, and it would always leave a bad, heavy ache in his stomach, like he’d drunk too much sour coffee. Now, its absence is breathtaking. Replaced by an unyielding, crushing weight that sinks onto his shoulders as soon as he steps inside. Even the suit feels different; feels itchy and too small, wrong somehow like he’s stolen it, like it doesn’t belong to him.

Worse is the feeling that every wall is just a little bit closer than he remembers; each corridor just slightly longer, every face distorted and unrecognizable. His hands shake, his heart trembles; he pretends like they don’t and forces his body to move. Even Bruce’s presence can’t ease the cold waves of sweat, his stomach churning, churning, twisting its way slowly up his throat; an inchworm of the anxious urge to turn around and run.

But he won’t run. Not today, not today, not now, not when he’s gotten this far. He’s prepared for this. He’s prepared, he’s ready, he has to be ready, he has to face him and heal. That’s how these things are supposed to work, right? You face it, the abyss, you stare into it until it’s no longer so terrifying when it stares back.

The ultimate hurdle that must be overcome so that life can continue moving onwards. Shudder and settle into a new kind of normal, like an old house after a storm that finds its way, uncomfortable in its foundations but standing, standing regardless. 

That’s how these things go.

They all stare at him as he comes walking. He knows it’s all in his head, that his steps don’t echo so monstrously loud, that his heartbeats don’t shake every glass wall. He knows they can’t escape from their prisons. They don’t know, they will never know, his secrets are safe but it all feels so raw, so open, cut and ripped and spread naked for anyone to see.

But that’s just ridiculous. That’s just nerves. That’s just sweat rolling down his temple and that’s just curiosity in their eyes, as they watch, steadily, closely as they creep down the hallway. The corridor  _ will _ end, it is  _ not _ winding. There is a light at the end of this tunnel. He just needs to keep going.

His mouth is so dry it might as well be sandpaper. It doesn’t matter how much he’s prepared for this particular moment, this one, singular event in the entirety of everything. This, so insignificant to the universe, yet insurmountable to him. It’s stupid, really. But his jaws are tightly clenched, teeth grinding, grinding together to keep his voice from shaking when he finally finds his voice to speak. But it’s not enough to find his voice, he must also find the words. And what do you say to such a man at such a time in such a place?

He doesn’t even  _ remember _ .

The Ornithologist’s eyes snap up in immediate curiosity. They are fireflies in the dark; but dying ones, atrophying bodies barely able to cast a light. He knows that’s just a trick of the light. But it feels real. The man looks thinner. He thinks. Maybe he’s larger, how could he know? A moment frozen in time, forever seared into the core of his body, in his skin and his bones and his brain. A still image that never fades, yet for the life of him, he can’t recall the details of his face.

Was his hair always this greying? Was his stubble always this unkempt? His nails this short? Did he bite them before? Was his nose always crooked? That scar above his lip, did he have that, did he have that when he touched him? When he cut and carved and scraped away everything he had fought so hard to become?

They’ve been talking, Bruce and the Ornithologist, or no, not Bruce, Batman. They’ve been talking, but he can’t tell what about. The room is empty, dark, like a pit, and he feels it swallow him whole.

Sat at a table, looking so terribly ordinary, only some metal restraints separate them from each other. He’s shackled to the table, around the ankles, but the guard has politely left the room. Not that he would be safer with the guard here; he would only get in the way, but his heart still swells and shrinks rapidly in panic at the realization.

There are two chairs for them, but Batman won’t sit down. He never does. And how could he? Not enough room to  _ move _ , to slip away, should the need arise. There is not a single tool in this room with which to hurt another person, except their bodies, his fists, his training -- but a normal man can’t do harm here. A normal man can’t touch him. But that is not a normal man, is it?

Is that what he’s here to find out?

He releases his breath, not aware it was trapped in the cage of his ribs. He releases the breath and slowly inhales another, willing his heart to slow down. Batman says something again but it all comes as if under several meters of sand. Of dirt. Six feet of cold, worm infested dirt. That’s where he could be, should be, had this all turned out differently.

The Ornithologist smiles at him, in a crooked sort of way, as if he’s not sure why. Like there is a joke somewhere, lost on him, just barely. He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t know. Well, he knows enough, doesn’t he? How much trauma makes a difference?  He might as well know none of it, it would still not undo the hurt. Maybe this is better. Is this better? Is it better to carry this filth alone?

But he’s not alone.

Bruce looks at him through the ghostly  white lenses of his cowl. His jaw is just as unreadable and unhelpful as marble. Dick can only hope his face is the same. Slowly, like in a horror movie, he turns to face the man. He can almost imagine his neck creaking, like that of an old wooden door in the haunted house, slowly, slowly revealing the danger lurking in the dark.

What the hell is he supposed to do now? The Ornithologist stares at him, mouth never relaxing form that stiff, painful grin. His hands gently drum against the top of the table, a sound he knows to be quiet, yet in this empty room it becomes unbearable.

‘’Please’’ The Ornithologist breaks the silence. ‘’Have a seat’’

In some strange sort of way, his body does the opposite of what he’d expected. It doesn’t crumble, doesn’t break down, his heart doesn’t sink and his breath doesn’t hitch. Merely, everything stops. Concrete fills his chest, joints lock into place, muscles stiffen. Shuts down. But he can’t let it.

‘’I’ll stand, thanks’’ Dick can’t recognize his own voice, but feels it from his throat. The Ornithologist chuckles under his breath.

‘’How kind of you to visit me. It’s taken you so long, I was thinking you’d forgotten about me’’

‘’Tried to’’ He presses the words through clenched teeth. ‘’Turns out it’s kinda hard to forget a guy who spent two weeks torturing you. Who knew, huh?’’

The Ornithologist opens his mouth, but fails to find the words. Only a small, gentle chuckle comes forth. Shaking his head, his eyes seem to flicker, though that must be a trick of his imagination. Reflections of the dim bulb buzzing above their heads.

‘’You know, I’ve had a lot of time to think about that’’ He licks his lips and shifts in his seat, both Bruce and Dick twitch in preparation. He laughs again as he notices their agitation. ‘’My, my, so have you, it seems. I’m happy I could leave such a … lasting, impression’’

A sour, acidic taste pulls at the back of Dick’s mouth.

‘’Watch your mouth’’ Batman warns in his darkest voice, sending a pleasant shiver down the Ornithologist’s spine.

‘’Being in here, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands, you see. And something has been nagging me lately…’’

‘’Heavy conscience?’’ Dick sneers.

The Ornithologist smiles softly. ‘’Is that what you were hoping?’’

Dick keeps his jaws tightly clenched, fists balling inside his cape, his body feeling all at once eerily calm and boiling like a kettle. What had he expected? What does he even  _ want _ ? What could he possibly get out of this that would make a difference? Remorse? There is no remorse in this man, Dick knows this, and even if there was, what good would it do? What good would it  _ do _ ?

He swallows another mouthful of vomit threatening to creep through his teeth. The Ornithologist continues, gesturing leisurely with his restrained hand.

‘’Something has been missing. At first I thought it was simply something I had forgotten, you know, when you enter a room and can’t recall why you entered in the first place? But it couldn’t be, surely, because it didn’t  _ feel _ small, you see. It didn’t feel…’’ He purses his lips. ‘’... insignificant’’

‘’Forgot the stove on before you left the house?’’

The Ornithologist scoffs.

‘’No, little fledgling, it was something far more important. It was strange, because if you ask me what happened those two weeks, those two short weeks, I can’t for the life of me remember how they ended’’

‘’Knocked your head pretty hard, huh?’’ Dick feels the tremble in his voice, as it rumbles through his chest. The Ornithologist’s mouth twitches, but his smile does not falter. His coffee stained teeth glint behind chapped lips.

‘’Well, the funny thing is, Robin -- it’s not like simply  _ forgetting _ something, it’s as if it is not  _ there _ anymore. Like someone...’’ He gestures with his hand again, an admittedly difficult thing to do in his position. ‘’... like someone hacked off a bit of my brain. Isn’t that strange?’’

Batman doesn’t react as the Ornithologist turns to face him. Only now do the Ornithologist’s lips slacken into a thin line, eyes going dark. But that must surely be a trick of the light.

‘’Say…’’ The Ornithologist licks his lips again. ‘’You have some powerful mind-bending friends, do you not, Batman?’’

He doesn’t wait for a response.

‘’It doesn’t take a genius to know that someone has tampered with my mind’’ He continues. ‘’And so I thought to myself, what could possibly be so terrible that you would remove, not two weeks of torture --’’ He chuckles under his breath. ‘’Two weeks of burning, cutting, beating, electrocuting, freezing, drowning -- all the great hits, not to mention the mental torture, the sensory deprivation, the --’’

‘’We  _ get _ it’’ Dick snaps. Nausea overcomes his body.

‘’Anyhow’’ He pauses to observe Robin’s face. ‘’Remarkable, isn’t it? How you have no scars? I thought of leaving some permanently, as a memento, or a signature, but --’’

Dick slams his fists down on the table, causing it to shake. Had it not been bolted to the floor it would’ve moved. The glint in the Ornithologist’s eyes shines brighter.

‘’You’re right, I digress’’ He says, smiling. ‘’What I meant to say was, I became curious to know what was so horrible, so terrible that you would erase it from my mind?’’

He stares at him, seeing nothing but empty dark. In one single moment Dick feels his entire body go ice cold. Bruce places a heavy hand on his shoulder, but it’s barely enough to keep him anchored.

‘’Why are you here, Robin?’’ The Ornithologist leans closer across the table. ‘’What are you hoping to achieve? Hm? Have you thought about me as much as I have about you?’’

Why did he come here? Why? Why?  _ Why _ ? Bruce warned him, even J’onn was hesitant. They all told him, all said it could do more harm than good but he always has to act like he knows best, doesn’t he? Always thinks he has all the answers, when he’s nothing but an arrogant, stupid,  _ stupid _ fourteen year old boy.

If he hadn’t had to be the hero, the leader, the master, he wouldn't be in here. He wouldn’t have stayed behind, there was  _ no _ need to stay behind, was there? They could’ve gotten out without him, they could’ve run, he could’ve held the bad guys off somehow, remotely, smoke grenades, hell, even a normal grenade. He could have collapsed the ceiling and ran. Wally told him, Artemis  _ told him _ . They all told him but he had to have the last word, didn’t he? And now what is he doing? What the hell is he  _ doing? _

The Ornithologist basks in his silence, like he can somehow know the turmoil, the thoughts, the doubts, the regret pounding and pounding behind his skull. Maybe he does know. After all, he planted it there.

‘’I’m flattered’’ the man says. And Dick feels dizzy, feels the whole room speed up, going faster and faster no matter how much he focuses his breathing, no matter how many cracks he counts in the wall. He can’t seem to stay grounded.

‘’Did you come back for more?’’

‘’That’s enough’’ Batman’s dark voice cuts through the fog like a blade, like a dark horse crashing through a storm, barreling towards the man at the table. ‘’We came here to do our job’’

‘’And what might that entail?’’ He scoffs. ‘’I am behind bars, am I not? So to speak’’

Dick shakes his head, trembling violently, skin crawling with millions and millions of itchy, sticky bugs, his body on fire with phantom hands, echoing with old pain that never quite fades. Why is Bruce lying? They aren’t working. This is personal. But then, what is he supposed to say? He doesn’t even know himself why he’s here. Why is he  _ here _ ?

‘’You have connections. Names, locations, jobs’’

Is this supposed to spare his dignity somehow?

‘’And what about it?’’ The Ornithologist’s face shifts as he turns to Bruce, from delightful intrigue his demeanor becomes clouded with boredom. His lip retracts above his teeth, quivering as if smelling something foul.

‘’I want that information’’

‘’Why should I give it to you?’’

‘’Because I’m not asking’’

The Ornithologist scoffs. ‘’Alright’’ He says, sneering that nasty, ugly, rotten way. ‘’I will only speak to Robin’’

Their eyes meet again and he feels his heart ache. It is only a matter of time now before he fully vomits on the floor.  Desperately, he tries to dissociate, rip his mind away from the current events but his body feels heavier and more awake than ever.

‘’That’s  _ not _ gonna happen’’ Bruce doesn’t move a single inch.

The Ornithologist glares at him for a long moment of silence, body tensed and coiled as if ready for something.  ‘’Then I have nothing to say’’ He spits the words.

Bruce might be enacting more intimidation tactics, he can’t quite tell, mind spinning so fast now it’s impossible to keep track of anything happening in the periphery. Maybe he even hits the man, maybe the Ornithologist laughs, maybe he doesn’t care what they do to him, because he’ll enjoy it. He’ll enjoy it like he enjoyed doing it to others, to him, to Robin, and he enjoys playing it in his mind again and again and again with his every breath. And maybe they have that in common, maybe they’ll always be united by this one event, these two weeks of his life, out of hundreds and thousands of weeks to come. A whole life, 4171 weeks, that’s 0.05% percent of a lifetime.

Would killing him make a difference? Did this make a difference? What can he say? What can anyone say? Did this just reinforce the connection, rip open the scabs, did this just make things worse? Did this just bind them together? Will they  _ ever _ be severed? Could they?

‘’Why are you here, Robin?’’ The Ornithologist asks again, blood gushing from a broken nose, his smile lacking a couple of teeth. Robin doesn’t realize he’s been gasping for air, choking, drowning in nothing but his own thoughts. ‘’You know why I think you’re here?’’

He wants to scream.

‘’I think you  _ liked _ it, Robin --’’

‘’That’s enough!’’ Bruce is going for his throat, one hand grasping a chokehold while he raises the other in a blood stained fist. He hits the man again, splitting his lip. But the Ornithologist just laughs, blood gurgling in his throat.

‘’I think you liked it and I think you came back for more! Isn’t that --’’ Another punch interrupts him, and another, and another.  But it won’t stop the laughing.

Did he want this? Is this why he came here? Is this what he wants? Does he like it, does he  _ want _ this to happen? Does he does he does he  _ does he-- _

‘’It was nice to see you again’’ The man gasps in pain, wheezing as blood drips from his mouth onto the table.

\-- leading him to the door? When did Bruce’s grip get so tight on his shoulder? Where are they going? Why did they come? Why are they here?

‘’I’m not an idiot, Batman! I know what you did!’’ The Ornithologist rises out of his chair, strains against the shackles, chains rattling, table creaking against its bolts. His eyes, wide, bloodshot, vibrating with ecstatic anger and exhilaration. Blood spraying with the spittle from his mouth as he screams his face red, veins bulging fat and long in his neck. ‘’I  _ know _ what you did to me!’’

The door slams shut, heavy, metallic, and final. But his voice still echoes, still scratches through, creeping into Dick’s head and his skin and his body. He makes it out of the hallway before he vomits.


End file.
